


Signs of Life

by hardlyfatal



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Blizzards & Snowstorms, F/M, Remote Cabin in the Woods, car runs out of gas, however will they spend their time?, they simply must shack up together until the roads are clear, tropes galore, why by fucking of course
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-25
Updated: 2019-01-06
Packaged: 2019-09-26 21:46:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 32,315
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17149655
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hardlyfatal/pseuds/hardlyfatal
Summary: Seclusion in a cabin on a Vale mountaintop seems the perfect remedy to the funk Brienne's been in since her father's death, but a blizzard puts an end to that idea when she's stranded... on the wrong mountaintop.Seclusion in a cabin on a Vale mountaintop seems the perfect remedy to Jaime's family's machinations and manipulations, but a blizzard brings an unwelcome stranger to crash in his home until the roads are clear again.And, sure, their chemistry is off-the-charts intense, and they end up getting along well (REALLY well, if you know what I mean, AND I THINK YOU DO), but she's got to leave sometime... doesn't she?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is something I thought up with Mikki's help, brainstorming back and forth until this crazy little thing was all plotted out. She's been a fantastic beta for it, as has sea_spirit, so if you end up enjoying this story, please thank them for their excellent feedback and advice!
> 
> I'll be posting another chapter daily until January 5th-- one for each day of Christmas. Hope you like it, happy reading!

.

~*~

.

Somewhere along the way, Brienne Tarth had gotten lost. That wouldn’t ordinarily be a problem, except for a few undesirable factors: she hadn’t realized her error until she was at the top of the wrong mountain, nearly out of gas after driving for hours and hours, _and_ in the midst of the worst snowstorm she’d ever experienced.

Not only was visibility nearly zero because of the thick-falling snow, but the wind was so strong she half-expected a gust to blow her right off the cliffside that she at that moment was inching along. Whose idea was it to build a road on the very edge of a plummet to infinity?

The better question, perhaps, was ‘whose idea was it to drive to the top of a huge mountain a week before Sevenmas when a storm threatened?’ The answer to that was far less satisfying, at least as far as her irritation was concerned, because it was her. _She_ was to blame for that bit of foolishness. Sevenmas had never been her favorite time; their small family kept shrinking every year until it was just Brienne and her father, and with his death a few months earlier, now it was just her alone.

Increasingly desperate for something to distract her from her loneliness and grief, she had rejected all offers from various friends to join them for the holidays. A sub-tropical celebration of ornament-decked palm trees with the Tyrells was not to be borne, nor was any well-intentioned quality time with the masses of Starks and Stark-adjacent persons to be found in Winterfell. It would all just remind her too much of what she’d had and lost, and throw into relief that, while she was loved and welcomed by her dear friends, she wasn’t truly one of them, always the outsider awkwardly shoehorning herself into their midst instead of belonging by right of birth and blood.

She was the last Tarth, and truly alone.

Now more than ever, because it felt like no other creature was to be found on the whole of the mountain— she hadn’t seen a sign of life in an hour, though to be fair, she hadn’t seen anything but swirling cascades of snow and the interior of her rental car for that hour, either. The directions had been so simple, she hadn’t felt the need to write them down— ‘turn onto Eyrie Road and follow it to the very top’— but what she hadn’t counted on was that there’d be two Eyrie Roads, and that she’d mistake one for the other, as she had discovered the last time her cell phone had had reception and she’d been able to check GPS.

And now the needle of her gas gauge was hovering over ‘E’, cell reception had died an hour earlier, and she was nowhere near anywhere and things really weren’t looking good.

 _Well_ , she thought wryly, she’d been looking for a distraction from her misery. This certainly was distracting.

Over the following, increasingly tense hour, she was very glad when the road left the very edge of the mountainside to head inward, away from certain death by falling toward slightly-less-certain death by simply freezing. The road narrowed to a path, and then a mere track, trees clustering so closely that their branches scraped along the sides of the car as she passed between them.

 _If_ _I_ _survive this,_ _there_ _goes_ _my_ _deposit_ , she thought with annoyance. The damage to the car’s paint would be extensive.

Finally, she reached a point where even the tiny sub-compact she’d crammed herself into was not small enough to wend between the narrow gaps in the trees, and drew to a halt.

Then, while she pondered her options (which consisted of whether or not she dared to keep the car running for the meager amount of heat wavering from the vents or conserve gas for some future moment when, presumably, she’d be able to drive elsewhere) the choice was taken from her when the engine sputtered, hiccuped, and died.

The gas gauge needle was officially past— _long_ past— ‘E’.

Brienne slumped in her seat. No, she had one more choice: stay in the car, in whatever heat it would be able to retain, and hope for the best. She was dressed warmly, had a few bottles of water and snacks. The storm couldn’t last forever, could it? She was strong. She’d likely be able to weather— hah— it out.

It was nearly impossible to believe, but it was barely past noon. She’d left Bloody Gate (and what an awful name that was, had no one considered changing the medieval name to something less gory?) at daybreak. She was supposed to have arrived at her rented cabin by mid-morning, taken an hour to acclimate herself to her surroundings, unpack, then have a nice lunch before perhaps taking a hike or building a snowman.

Instead… yeah.

Not even one in the afternoon, and nearly as dark as full night. No one around for miles and miles, no one expecting her, no one to know she was in a pickle.

 _This_ _could_ _be_ _it_ , she thought, and didn’t feel as dismayed by the idea as one might expect. On a certain level, she knew that in itself was alarming: she was confronted with death and the most she could muster in response was ‘so, this is happening’. But the numbness that had been creeping up on her since her father’s passing spread a layer of apathy over most of her reactions, and this one was no different.

Brienne gave a mental shrug. What would be, would be. Her lone memory of her mother was of her singing those words. _The future’s not_ _ours_ _to_ _see_ , her mother had sung. _Que_ _sera, sera_. She wasn’t going to get worked up over something she couldn’t change.

What she could change was what she did next. If she decided not to remain in the car, to find some shelter, how to go about it? Pack her pockets with the supplies she’d brought, bundle up as carefully as possible… did she dare to blow out the car battery by leaving the headlamps on, to illuminate the way as far as the light would throw?

No, she thought, best to conserve while she could. Already the vents were beginning to blow out air more cool than warm, so she shut off the ignition and huddled deeper into her coat. The stressful drive, and sudden end to the need to stay alert, left her abruptly exhausted and she had to fight to keep her eyes open.

But hadn’t she heard that it was bad to sleep when hypothermic? She was still plenty warm, at the moment, so perhaps she should indulge her desire to sleep while it was still safe to do so.

She burrowed down into her coat, sliding sideways so she could bring her knees up and curl tighter. After making sure her hands were tucked up into her sleeves, she closed her eyes and let herself relax.

She had barely closed her eyes when there was a clattering, scratching sound outside the car and Brienne jerked upright in alarm. The interior of the vehicle had fogged up a bit and she had to scrub her forearm against the window to see outside.

There was a lion on the other side of the glass.

Brienne sucked in a shocked breath. No, not a lion, she saw when her brain decided a lion was a ridiculous thing to find on a godsforsaken snow-covered mountain in the Vale and she had to come up with a better alternative. A dog. But a very lion-like dog, huge, golden-brown, with a big fur ruff around its neck. Beautiful, in a dangerous sort of way, but she still wanted to give him a scritch.

After a fraught moment of prolonged eye contact, the lion-dog sat back on its haunches— becoming, somehow, even taller— and gave her a big doggy smile, panting and revealing long ivory fangs. Brienne couldn’t help but smile back. She had never been particularly good with people, but dogs had always treated her kindly. She was about 87% certain he was friendly and wouldn’t try to hurt her.

The lion-dog stood and romped through the snow until he was about ten feet from the car, then stopped and turned to look back at her. Giving a yip, he ran another ten or so feet away before turning back once more, yipping again. When she just sat there, watching, he almost seemed to sigh before jogging back to the car. He rose to hind feet, placing immense paws on the door and his big furry face right up against the window and woofed deeply, then let his claws rake down the side of the vehicle as he got back to all four paws.

 _Definitely_ _not getting_ _my_ _deposit_ _back_ _on this_ , Brienne thought ruefully.

The dog began his odd dance once more, trotting away and barking, looking back at her, and finally she realized he wanted her to follow him.

Did she dare? The car was already becoming uncomfortably cold and he seemed too well-cared-for to be a stray, so somewhere in the winter wonderland out there was his owner and, presumably, a warm place to wait out the storm.

Might as well. What did she have to lose? She’d just prolong the inevitable, remaining in the car. At least she’d get to pet a dog— or a lion, or whatever the creature was— before she croaked.

With trepidation, but also a sense of inevitability, Brienne gathered up her scant hoard of supplies— maybe she could return at a later time for her luggage?—, sucked in a breath, and opened the door.

The dog bounded up to her the moment she emerged from the car, upon hind legs once more to plant his paws on her shoulders and swipe his tongue up her cheek.

“Eugh,” Brienne laughed, pushing him away. “It’s nice to meet you, too. I hope you don’t mind if I don’t lick you back.”

Fortunately, the dog didn’t seem offended. With a bark, he ran off, stopping and looking back to make sure she was following.

“Yes, yes, I’m coming,” Brienne told him as she began her slog through the knee-high drifts, feeling very relieved she’d worn tights under her jeans and tall, sheepskin-lined boots in addition to her warm parka. She hurried to wrap her scarf around her head, leaving only her eyes uncovered, then yanked on her gloves.

She followed the dog for… a while. Her gloved hands were too clumsy to dig out her phone and check the time, which passed differently when all she could see around her were swirling flakes and the snow-caked trunks of the surrounding trees. Plus, she was positive the dog’s path was in no way linear, instead snaking around like a long word written in cursive.

It went counterintuitive to everything she knew made sense, but… she had to place her trust in the dog, to get her somewhere safe, or else some unfortunate hiker would find her in the spring, half-decomposed. The thought, perversely, made her laugh as she pictured herself, sprawled out, tongue lolling out of her mouth, with Xs in place of her closed eyes like in cartoons.

The dog, attracted to her laughter it seemed, bounded back and launched himself at her with a joyful bark. It knocked her back into a waist-high drift.

Unfortunately, her booted feet remained where they were, embedded in snow, with the result that her ankle wrenched as she was knocked off balance by 150 pounds of lion-dog. It startled her into a shout of pain. The dog licked her other cheek— in apology?— before bounding off again.

Brienne lay there, breathless, while the dog leapt away, snapping at falling snowflakes. Lost on a mountain, car out of gas and snowed in besides, in the middle of a fierce storm, and now her ankle was done for. Things were looking, somehow, even worse than they had been earlier. She began to laugh again, helplessly, heedless of the cold seeping through her clothes, at the ridiculous turn her life had taken.

“You’re pretty lighthearted for someone about to freeze to death,” commented a male voice.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Glad you liked the first chapter, please enjoy the second as well :)

~*~

Brienne tried to jackknife to a sitting position but just ended up thrashing around in the snow before flopping without grace to her back.

“Uh,” she said intelligently.

A man stood there, and as she stared upwards, he bent at the waist to loom over her, looking down into her face, or what little was revealed of it through the mummy-wrapping of her scarf.

 _His_ face was uncovered, and what a face it was: sculpted, symmetrical perfection in male form, with an unrealistically perfect jaw and a busted nose that in no way detracted from his masculine allure. As if that weren’t enough, he had golden hair and blazing green eyes, somewhere between jade and emerald, and when the hells had Brienne’s inner monologue begun to sound like a trashy romance novel? She didn’t use gemstones to describe people’s eyes. Ever.

If there were a person to inspire her to the practice, though... it was this guy. She’d lick _his_ face, that was for sure. _Wow_. Suddenly, the months since she’d broken up with Hyle seemed far more numerous. It had been… over a year, she now recalled. Fourteen months without any sort of sexual proximity with a man, and the last time had not precisely been fantastic. Brienne recalled it involved the usual lackluster efforts on Hyle’s part and her decision to stop pretending she was enjoying those efforts.

The intervening time had been spent either caring for her father in his last days, or mourning his loss, both things dampening her libido to the point of nonexistence, and in her misery, she hadn’t cared in the slightest. Had even considered that perhaps it had fled forever. Not like she needed it, that was certain.

At that moment, at the flare of lust in her belly— and lower— Brienne realized that her sex drive had not disappeared, had only been hibernating until the right person roused it from slumber. She’d once thought Renly’s handsome face to be the epitome of masculine beauty, but… boy, had she miscalculated.

They stared at each other for an endless, silent moment, during which Brienne’s breath became more and more ragged, until the dog ran up and tackled the man into an adjacent snow bank.

“Leo,” the man complained, “you have the worst timing.” He shoved the dog off and got to his feet. “ _And_ the worst breath. Remind me to brush your fangs when we get back.”

He seemed none the worse for wear despite his tumble to the snow thanks to the dog— Leo— so Brienne had that going for her, at least.

Brienne floundered to her feet— well, her foot, balancing on the uninjured one— and saw that he was just about her height, which was nice for a change. Well-built, too, in a way his heavy parka could not be entirely responsible for. She stood there and stared, mute, at him for another little while. The falling snowflakes caught in his hair like diamonds, even tangled in his eyelashes, and for a moment she contemplated tackling him into a snow bank much like Leo had done only moments earlier.

“Are you a woman?” he demanded all of a sudden.

Brienne jerked back, feeling almost as if he’d struck her physically. She was not exactly shocked at the question— she’d heard it many times, or a comment about how hard it was to tell her sex— but she’d just been in the midst of a nice little fantasy involving peeling his jeans off, and to have the reminder of her lack of feminine charms barked at her without warning was jarring.

“Yes,” she replied, striving for calm but achieving irritated and hostile. Brienne tugged down her scarf to reveal a face that, while hideous, was still recognizably female.

He said nothing in reply, but looked oddly relieved. It made her wonder if he had nefarious plans for a woman, and it was convenient that she happened to be one, but… she was no shrinking violet. Brienne could handle herself. If he tried anything she didn’t like, she’d flatten him, doubtless with one punch.

Though, she had to admit as she watched him dust snow off the narrow hips so well showcased by his snug jeans, if he tried something she _did_ like, she’d doubtless still flatten him… with her enormous body.

 _Hahaha_ , she thought, with more than a little irritation, _like that’s going to happen._ The man looked like a model in a cologne advertisement, where the men wore underwear with the designer’s name woven into the waistband and topless women wound themselves around the men’s feet.

“So,” she said hoarsely, then gave a little _hem-hem_ to clear her throat. _Focus_ , she admonished herself. “I—”

“—drove up the wrong Eyrie Road, got stuck in the snow, and were found by my fool dog,” he finished for her, an eyebrow arching in grim amusement.

“…yeah, something like that,” she mumbled, averting her gaze to the dog to try to hide her humiliation.

He squinted up at the sky, which continued to dump down its bounty without any signs of abating. There was a hushed, cocooned feel to it, something isolated and intimate, like they were the only people in Westeros at that moment. Brienne had not often experienced snow, had not grown up with it, certainly, so she’d always loved the coziness of a snowfall, but her circumstances at that moment were not conducive to thoughts of hot cocoa and wrapping up in a blanket by the fire as she watched the world turn white.

No, all she wanted was to be home, in the house by the sea where she and her brother and father had lived together, without her ankle throbbing dully in pain.

No, that wasn’t true. If she never again saw that house, never again sat in the middle of all the memories of people who were gone and never coming back, she’d be the happiest person alive. With a deep sigh, she retreated into the stoicism that had served her so well through all the most difficult times of her life.

“I’ll help you dig your car out. Push it backwards down the track, to the road, and then you can be on your way,” the man told her.

“I’m out of gas,” she admitted.

He scowled. “I’ll drive you back down in my car, then.”

Brienne blinked. “Well, I mean, you could try?” Then she gestured to their white-blanketed surroundings. “But the snow was pretty high when I got stuck. Unless you have a Humvee, I don’t see you able to drive through it.”

His scowl became even more pronounced. Somehow, it didn’t make a dent in his attractiveness, Brienne thought, more than a touch bitter, because when she scowled, she could almost shatter glass from the force of her ugliness.

“Fine,” he grumbled. “I’ll… think of something else.” His vivid gaze ran over her again, just as thoroughly as the previous times he’d done so. “I guess you should come to my place until I can figure out what to do.”

Brienne couldn’t help but laugh at how grudging and resentful he sounded. “So gracious of you,” she murmured, glaring when he aimed the scowl at her. She scowled back, twice as hard.

But on her first step, her weak ankle buckled and she pitched forward onto her face, fortunately landing in a nice soft drift. “Dammit,” she mumbled into the snow.

A strong hand grasped her arm and somehow flipped her over to her back. Brienne gazed up at him for a second time through a haze of ice crystals and wondered how upset he’d be if she just sort of… snagged his sleeve and yanked him down on top of her. “What’s your name?”

“Jaime,” he replied, his tone short. “Yours?”

“Jaime,” she repeated breathlessly. His eyes narrowed. “I’m Brienne.”

“You’re trouble, is what you are,” he muttered. “What’s wrong? You hurt?”

Brienne stood again, this time with his assistance, his hand like a band of steel around her elbow. “Your dog tackled me. I twisted my ankle when I fell.”

Jaime shot the beast a fulminating glare. Leo pranced away, unconcerned in the extreme, after a squirrel he thought he had a chance of vanquishing.

“Well, we’re not getting any warmer. Let’s go.”

He slid his gloved hand down her forearm to her wrist, encircling it with his fingers before slinging her arm around his shoulders.

“Oh!” she said in surprise. Brienne hadn’t expected that; for him to fetch her a sturdy branch to use as a cane, perhaps, but not for him to press his divine body all along hers and practically carry her through the woods. “If you… slow down, just a little, let me— I can go in rhythm with you. It’ll be easier in the long run.”

He slowed down only enough to be noticeable and Brienne duly changed her strides so that she put her weight on her injured ankle when he was stepping on the foot closest to her, thus distributing their weight to avoid overbalancing, and soon enough they were making progress that, while not brisk, was at least steady.

 _The world’s most awkward three-legged race_ , she thought, feeling stupid and embarrassed and still kind of turned on.

It took a bit over ten minutes, she estimated, to come to a sizeable clearing, on the far end of which sat the sweetest, coziest, most wonderful-looking log cabin she’d ever seen. The logs were weathered to a silvery brown, the little porch was well-stocked with piles and piles of firewood, and smoke curled from the chimney, filling the air with a wonderful homey smell that Brienne inhaled deeply. It was just what she’d wanted, when she’d arranged to rent the place she thought she’d been driving toward.

Shame she’d only be enjoying it for a short while, before Jaime drove her back down the mountain, because she thought it unlikely she’d be able to get to her own cabin, with how the weather was acting. _If_ they made it down the mountain at all.

Up the three steps to the porch they went. Jaime kicked the door open and hauled her through. The heat of the interior was incredibly welcome and Brienne basked in it while taking in her surroundings. There was a single large room with a sofa and two big armchairs arranged around a roaring fireplace. A kitchen area stood along the right wall, with heavenly smells emitting from a tall pot on the stove. Two doors were on the far wall, leading to… a bathroom, most likely, and something else, maybe a bedroom?

In spite of the rustic setting and traditional exterior of the cabin, inside was not snowshoes and fishing poles, as Brienne had seen in the photos advertising her cabin. Instead, it was all deep jewel tones of red and green, with brown and tan, everything worn enough to be comfortable but still in excellent condition and, if she weren’t mistaken, very high quality— nothing looked cheap or flimsy. Brienne thought back to all the chairs she’d broken just by sitting her considerably-sized self in them and almost sighed at the thought of not having to worry she’d neatly demolish the man’s home.

“Does it meet with your approval?” he asked, and she realized he was standing there, watching her survey his cabin, looking very amused. He’d denuded himself of his outer wear and, as she watched, tugged off his boots to set them in a tray by the door. Under his coat, he was wearing a thick cable-knit sweater in navy blue. He looked positively edible.

“Y-yes, it’s nice,” she stammered, embarrassed. “It’s wonderful, that’s why I was— Yes. Sorry.” Balanced like a flamingo on one leg, she plucked at her own coat. “Should I…?”

“Unless you want to sit in cold, soggy clothes and give yourself pneumonia, yes, at the very least the coat should come off,” replied Jaime. “You should probably take it all off.”

Her eyes flew from where she’d looked down, starting to peel off her damp gloves, to his face. Gods, his jaw was a work of art. Another little hallucination, of her naked, and him, too, their bodies painted with firelight, flitted before her eyes.

“I meant— come here,” he said, a faint pink tinge coming to his cheeks that had nothing to do with the cold they’d just left. He pointed to the leftmost door on the far wall. “My bedroom. In the dresser… clothes you can put on. We’re about the same size, it should all fit. I’ll get you a towel. You want some coffee? Tea? Cocoa? Pot roast? No, that’s not ready yet. A sandwich?”

 _He’s embarrassed,_ Brienne realized in wonder, and nervous, if the rambling were any indication. _Adorable_.

Brienne was quick to shuck her snow-caked parka, scarf, and gloves, hanging them all on the pegs in the wall by the door. She sat on the arm of the nearest chair to tug off her boots before setting them neatly beside his in the tray. Then she hobbled a few steps in his direction but he soon sighed and approached, pulling her arm around his shoulders once more, to help her get to her destination with more speed.

This close, unencumbered by their coats, she could feel his body heat. He smelled like a cologne commercial, too, something spicy and mouth-watering that put her in mind of thick golden resin. Perhaps it was for the best that he was so keen to get rid of her, because being cooped up in this place with him for any period of time would be hazardous to her sanity.

He nudged open the bedroom door with his sock-clad foot. Inside was a massive bed in a wooden frame that looked nigh-indestructible, and why was she thinking about how sturdy his bed was? Oh, who was she trying to fool? Brienne knew why. The bed was piled high with fluffy pillows and a duvet that looked thick enough to drown in. Brienne wanted to swan-dive into it and not come back out for a week.

And if she had company while she were there, well…

Darting a sideways glance at him, she found his gaze locked on the bed and watched as his Addam’s apple bobbed with a hard swallow. When he looked at her, she could have sworn the expression on his perfect face was hunger.

“Th-that pot roast smells good,” she said inanely, but it was the only explanation she could think of.

He looked confused. “…yes?” he replied. They gazed at each other another few seconds before he cleared his throat. “So, uh, like I said…” He made a sweeping gesture with one hand. “Help yourself. And… a towel. I’ll get you one.”

He left her there. Brienne began to undress, pulling her sweater off— shivering when the cold, wet cuffs touched her goosebumped skin—to reveal the sleeveless t-shirt she liked to layer underneath, then stripped off her socks. She hazarded a guess for where his socks might be and struck gold on her first try. She selected the topmost pair and sat on the edge of the bed to pull them on her chilled feet.

A noise at the door had her looking up to find Jaime in the threshold, a towel dangling from one hand, seemingly forgotten as he stared at her. Was she that unsightly, that she’d stun him into freezing like a statue and goggling at her as if she were an exhibit at a freak show? Standing, she limped to him and took the towel.

“Thank you,” she muttered unhappily, draping it over her head and scrubbing furiously at her sodden hair, hating herself and him and Leo and everyone and everything else on the entire planet. 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone for your comments, I'm glad you're enjoying it so far :)

_~*~_

_Fuck_. It was both an expression of dismay but also what Jaime Lannister wanted to do in that instant: fuck. He had no idea what was wrong with his groin, but it was very, very interested in this great beastly woman.

It had begun the moment he’d reached where she’d lain in the snow. Searching for Leo, hearing what sounded like an exclamation of pain from a woman, he’d followed the sound to find a person sprawled out on their back. He’d bent over them, looking for signs of life, trying to calculate exactly how much work it would cause him if they were dead, when they’d laughed, though it sounded more like the kind of cynical laughing that was all he seemed to do, anymore, than from genuine amusement.

There was no time to puzzle over that; the person opened their eyes, looking straight up at him, and then he was experiencing a near-instantaneous erection the likes of which he’d not experienced since his high school days.

The size of the person had given him pause; they were _enormous_ , as big as or even bigger than he, and he was no shrimp. And their face was covered. All he’d seen were their eyes, but that appeared to be all his cock required to stand at attention.

_Gods, I hope that’s not a man,_ he’d thought. _If it is, I have some thinking to do._ He didn’t want to fuck a man. Not that there was anything wrong with that, but… the only penis he had any sexual interest in was his own, and only in terms of using it to get off rather than enjoying it for its own sake.

The relief that had coursed through him, when she’d confirmed she was female, had been just as enormous as she was. _Nothing to worry about,_ he thought, and wondered if he could talk her into a quick fuck before he hastened her back off his mountain.

Damned inconvenience, there being two Eyrie Roads. No matter how he tried, how often or how generously he tried to bribe the governor of the Vale, Petyr Baelish, the man stood firm against renaming one of the roads to something else. Lannister Lane had a nice ring to it, as did Westerlands Way or Casterly Crest, but no. As long as Baelish’s mad wife continued to badmouth Jaime to her husband, who’d do as she said just to shut her up, he had no hope of prevailing.

Lysa couldn’t get over the way their single date, fifteen years earlier, hadn’t led to a wild romance and eventual marriage as she’d planned, and now she was making him pay. Jaime felt bad for Baelish… almost.

Well, if it meant he got the odd lost visitor instead of a lifetime of misery wed to a crazy woman, he’d take the duplications of Eyrie Roads, and happily.

Or as happily as could be when his home had been invaded by a gigantic wench who made his hormones rage like they hadn’t in decades. The strength of her was apparent, as they’d stumbled to the cabin, making Jaime wonder when he’d acquired a fetish for women who could bench-press him, possibly with a single hand. She gazed around the cabin with such open longing that he’d felt a pang of sympathy for her— something had happened to make her want the comforting warmth and shelter his place provided.

On her face, in that moment, he’d seen a yearning to belong, to have a place to curl up and lick her wounds, and wasn’t that precisely why he’d moved there in the first place? Wasn’t that precisely why he was going to hurry her out the door, and off the mountain, never to be seen again?

It made sense, to hustle her into his bedroom to dry off and change into dry clothes, but he hadn’t counted on what proximity to both her and the bed would do to him. She smelled like the sea, something fresh and clean, reminding him of sailing and swimming and dozing on a sunny beach. Returning to the room with a towel and finding her with her arms bare, smooth freckled skin flowing over the undulating muscles of her shoulders and biceps, made his throat go dry with desire. Gods, what would it be like to have those powerful arms around him?

But she had taken his staring poorly, was insulted by his blatant observation— and why not, having a complete stranger watch her like he wanted to take a bite out of her, she probably thought he was a pervert or an ax murderer— and come to snatch the towel away.

Unfortunately, when she began to rub her hair dry, the motion made her breasts jiggle under her shirt. And if his suspicion were correct, she wore no bra beneath it, two dark circles showing through the whisper-thin cotton.

“I’ll just…” he began, but then decided simply to flee. His own clothes needed changing, his jeans clinging cold and damp to his legs, but that didn’t seem to matter much. Needing some air and distance, he stepped back into his boots, pulled his coat on with a fresh pair of gloves and a dry scarf, and headed out to try to fetch the stupid dog in.

Outside was all swirling snow, the faint crisp sound of it falling the only sound in that muffled, silent world. Their footsteps from only minutes earlier were well on their way to filling in, and there was no sign of Leo anywhere.

_He’ll come back eventually,_ Jaime thought grouchily, and went back inside, carrying with him another armload of firewood. He stacked it in the rack on the hearth, then divested himself of coat and the rest once more, standing before the fire with hands out to warm again.

He hadn’t even wanted the dog to begin with. Tyrion had convinced him that, if he were going to set himself up in a hermitage atop a mountain far from home, he needed to have some company.

“That defeats the purpose of being alone,” he’d told his brother dryly, but Tyrion would not be dissuaded.

“You’ll go insane all by yourself,” he’d informed Jaime. “ _More_ insane, that is.”

And yes, it probably wasn’t too rational, leaving everything behind to go into seclusion like a religious zealot, minus the religion, but… the world was fraught with stress and pain. Or at least people were. Jaime had had enough of both. Avoid people and you avoid the mess they brought into your life, he figured. He’d sold the condo in King’s Landing, traded the sports car for a four-wheel-drive SUV and the bespoke suits for sturdy lumberjack-type clothing. With the proceeds of everything, he’d invested in high-yield stocks, intending to live a modest and quiet life in solitude, and fucked directly off to the Vale, hoping to never see another human being again.

That was impossible, of course, but he did his best and met with a pleasing amount of success. He descended to Bloody Gate once a month to stock up on groceries and supplies and fetch his mail. He had a satellite phone, the internet, and a reliable generator to keep the lights and heat going. Failing that, he learned to chop firewood and work oil lamps and pretended he was a pioneer man.

Before that day, when Leo ran off for his daily constitutional and led him to finding a woman lying in the snow, he hadn’t seen a soul since his last grocery run a week earlier. It had been glorious. He felt resentful of her presence, that she’d broken his happy streak of solitude, but at the same time… he wondered. How hard might she be to seduce? He hadn’t had sex in a few years, and if the state of his dick were any indication, it was long past time to remedy that situation.

Maybe he wasn’t really attracted to her at all, maybe it was just that he was incredibly horny, and she was a woman, with the most beautiful eyes he’d ever seen and satiny-looking skin and muscley arms that would grip him like a vice and plush red lips that he thought would be a dream to kiss and oh, gods, would look so good wrapped around his cock and—

“Jaime?” she said, her voice soft and husky, and it took everything he had not to groan. He liked how she said his name, liked it a lot.

Turning, he saw she’d taken his words to heart and helped herself to his clothing. Soft gray sweatpants covered long, long, _long_ legs and she’d pulled on his favorite sweater, a baggy thing in cobalt blue that made her eyes nearly glow. Her hair, that silver-gilt that only a natural platinum blonde could manage, stuck up in cowlicks from the vigorous rubbing she’d given it. Her cheeks were still that intriguing pink, in what he was coming to think was her natural coloring.

_Adorable,_ he thought, and then wanted to kick himself. _No, you idiot. She’s wearing dry clothes, you’ll throw a sandwich at her, then shove her in your car and drive her down the mountain and never clap eyes on her again._

“Yeah,” he made himself say, and his voice sounded soft and husky, too.

“I was thinking,” she continued, and began to twist and roll the hem of his sweater in agitation.

Why was she so nervous? Had all his staring made her think he’d try to attack her or something? Granted, he _wanted_ to attack her— in the most pleasurable of ways— but he was pretty certain he hadn’t been so blatant that she’d be frightened of him.

“About what?” he prompted.

“Well… the track I followed to get as far as I did… is there another way from here to Eyrie Road, and down to Bloody Gate?”

Jaime frowned. “No, that’s it. Why?”

“Because my car is stuck in it. Really stuck. Like, wedged between the trees. And even if we can get it un-wedged, and put gas in the tank, I doubt we can maneuver it backward the mile between where it is and where it widens again enough to turn around. The snow was almost too deep to drive through when I managed to get here, and it’s been at least an hour since then, and—”

She gestured toward the nearest window, where it looked to be snowing even harder, the wind having picked up so the flakes were blowing almost horizontally, a steady cloud of white and little else.

“So… unless there’s another way off the mountain, I think I’m… I’m stuck here,” she concluded miserably, fingers torturing the sweater hem. “At least until— is there another way down?”

Jaime waited for the displeasure he was certain would follow that pronouncement. Where was it? Instead, there was a sense of… satisfaction? Definitely pleasure. He was pleased she’d have to remain. He hadn’t imagined the attraction on her face for him. If it were even a fraction of how much he wanted her, there was a fair chance they could make excellent use of their time together.

But she seemed so jittery. Timid, even. Jaime was a lot of unpleasant things, but he didn’t target or pressure women. The idea of making her feel uncomfortable with his attentions had his flesh crawling. He needed to at least attempt to behave normally, not like he was trying to seduce her, or he’d not be able to live with himself. And since he was all he had for company, these days— not counting Leo— that _mattered_.

“Well, damn,” he said, trying to sound convincingly displeased. “We’ll just have to do the best we can, then.”

She surveyed him with clear, calm eyes. Jaime tried to be both still and relaxed, not wanting to seem wound-up or fidgety or otherwise weird to her, and apparently he nailed it, because after a moment she nodded.

“I’m sorry,” she said, her posture very straight and face tense, obviously uncomfortable. “I can see you prefer to be alone, and weren’t looking to have a guest, especially a stranger. I hope I don’t have to abuse your hospitality for too long.”

Oh, she was a sweetheart. If he could like her as well as want her… if they ended up fucking, it could be nice, really… nice. Not just a physical release, but something for the mind and soul as well as for the body. It was how Jaime preferred sex, and what he’d not enjoyed for a long time. A _very_ long time. _Too_ long. He felt another aspect of wanting her click into place and gave a mental sigh. Even he, with his steadfast and ironclad sense of denial, was not blind to his own shortcomings— he was blind only to those of the people he cared for— and he knew that he was not exactly… circumspect when it came to his heart.

He could not form a crush on this woman. Instant attraction aside, the very idea was ludicrous, it was inconvenient, it was unwanted. _She_ was unwanted. In the long-term, at least. For the day or two she’d be his reluctant house-mate… yes. Wanted, and quite a lot. But more than that? No. She would go. She _had_ to go.

“So…” Brienne was back to looking down at where the hem of his sweater was now hopelessly stretched out of shape. “Thank you for your help.”

He smiled, hoping it didn’t look too predatory. She had to go, but… not quite yet. While she was here, there was a world of possibilities.

“It’s okay,” he told her. “I’ll manage somehow.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy 4th day of Christmas! The weather here is a gray, soggy mess so I hope this story is a bit of a pick-me-up if you're having a similarly blah day where you are. Thanks for your comments, I'm glad you're enjoying it so far :) Let me know what you think of this one?

~*~

Jaime didn’t know what he expected to happen next, but standing there and staring at each other definitely wasn’t it. She clearly was no sparkling conversationalist, and after a few years with only Leo to talk to, neither was Jaime, anymore. Without words to distract him, he was able to see that, even more than he’d realized, Brienne was profoundly uncomfortable— embarrassed, even— to be intruding upon him.

There was a charm to it, he found. His siblings, for example, would have had reactions running the gamut from Tyrion’s cheerful acceptance (and inquiries about where he kept the good wine) to Cersei’s haughty resignation (and inquiries about where he kept _any_ wine). And his father… Tywin wouldn’t have rested until he’d exhausted every avenue of rescue, up to and including chartering a helicopter to come fetch him, blithely paying quadruple if that was what it took to get the pilot to ignore the weather warnings.

Brienne, however… she was curled in upon herself, shoulders drawn inward and head down, as if trying to shrink to a less substantial size. Jaime decided to make it his life’s— no, the day’s— work to make her look less as if she were standing in front of a firing squad. He offered her that sandwich again, and a drink (both alcoholic and not), and various snacks; she refused them all.

She also mulishly refused a shower, his offer to launder her sodden clothing (“It will dry on its own”), and a blow dryer for her hair (“It’s practically dry already”).

At last, Jaime leaned a shoulder against the fireplace mantel and folded his arms over his chest.

“So what _do_ you want to do, then?” he asked. “I suppose we can just sit here and stare at each other until it’s time for bed, but even my face gets boring after the fourth or fifth hour.” He grinned as he scanned her features; they were fascinating in how poorly they fit together; there wasn’t a smooth flow from any one of them to another, everything sort of crammed together in the worst possible ways.

And yet… there was softness there, and grace. If you looked. Which he _was_. And which she had noticed, and disliked, because she turned a fearsome frown upon him and folded her own arms militantly over the breasts that, despite their modest dimensions, still caused Jaime a worrying amount of distraction.

They were the size of cupcakes. Perhaps more like fluffy pancakes. But he liked their neat smallness, liked that they’d fit right into the cup of his palm, liked that their nipples were dark enough to show through the material of her shirt.

What he did not like, however, was how his body was starting to react to that train of thought.

“I’m going to go put on some dry things, myself,” he said abruptly, his voice a bit more gruff than he’d intended.

He stalked past her to the bedroom, where he found she had spread out her damp things over the back of the armchair in the corner. He decided to put them through the laundry in spite of her refusal, he decided, and wasn’t able to resist walking over for a closer look. The sweatshirt was black with a silk-screening of a coat of arms in rose-pink and sky-blue, with golden stars and silver moons, and the word ‘Evenfall’ arching above and ‘Tarth’ below.

In a fit of curiosity, he took her jeans by the waistband and held them to his own hips, unable to stop a tiny grin when the cuffs hit the floor, precisely an inch too long for him. The woman was a giantess. He replaced her clothes on the chair and dug through his dresser, coming out with sweatpants and a plaid flannel shirt for himself.

Once changed, he gathered up her clothes and marched out, through the main room to the utility room off the back of the house, where the washer and dryer were located. He tossed her snow-wet things in with his own, dumping in detergent and setting the cycle. When the machine started whirring and sloshing, he turned to find her immediately behind him, eyes narrow.

“Yeeeesssssss?” he drawled.

“I didn’t want my clothes washed.”

“I heard you the first time. Why not? Do you _like_ wearing mildewy, funky-smelling things?”

She blinked. “No, of course not. I just— didn’t want to— give you—”

“Extra work?” Jaime guessed, but she shook her head.

“Anything to hold over me,” she muttered, and hobbled back to the main room.

Slowly he followed, watching the tension in her shoulders as she stared out the window at the swirling white world beyond the glass. He couldn’t really object, after all. It was how he’d been raised: expect nothing for free.

But there was something… tender about Brienne, something naive and pure, and the idea that someone had hurt her did not sit well with Jaime. She should be protected, not taken advantage of.

“Brienne,” he said quietly, and waited until she turned to face him. “I don’t do anything for any... hidden compensation. If I offer something, it’s because I want to give it, and don’t expect anything in return.”

She stared at him for what felt like a long time, but was probably only a few seconds, face set and still but eyes blazing with some unknown emotion. Then she gave a quick, jerky nod and turned back to the window.

_Touchy_ , he thought, put in mind of a stray who needed to be gentled and coaxed in order to trust. But he understood. Life could be hard on a person. That was why he’d gone to live on a mountain, after all.

Jaime plunked himself on his favored side of the well-loved brown leather sofa, set his laptop on his knees, and booted up, only occasionally looking toward where she continued to do a fair imitation of a statue by the window. Was the snow really _that_ fascinating? He admitted to himself that he was a little irked that she’d rather stare outside at nothing than talk to him, unused to people ignoring him even when he wanted them to.

He was surprised that his internet was still working, having thought the satellite dish would have been full of snow and rendered useless hours ago, but pleased that it wasn’t. He checked his stocks, then his email, then opened a chat window to his brother.

> _Jaime: sevenmas has come early_
> 
> _Tyrion: huh?_
> 
> _Jaime: another person took the wrong eyrie road and ended up here._
> 
> _Jaime: no way down the mountain with this storm. looks as if i have a huge female guest for the next while._
> 
> _Tyrion: …what? huge? what?_
> 
> _Jaime: she’s taller than i am_
> 
> _Tyrion: …really… :D :D :D_
> 
> _Jaime: oh gods not that size fetish of yours again_
> 
> _Tyrion: i can’t help it. everyone’s bigger than i am. might as well learn to find it hot._
> 
> _Tyrion: now YOU can learn to find it hot._

Jaime flicked another glance her way; she’d crossed her arms, which dragged his sweater more snugly around her torso, and higher so it hid less of her ass, which, he was very interested to see, was extremely well-formed and exercised and looked as if he could bounce a silver stag off of.

_And_ her thighs; his sweatpants clung to quads that he had a sudden, powerful urge to trace along with his fingertips. Or his teeth.

> _Jaime: might be i don’t have to learn to find it hot_
> 
> _Tyrion: reeeeeeeeeeeeally. tell me more. pretty, i assume? blonde, or are you trying something new?_
> 
> _Jaime: blonde, yes. ugliest thing i’ve ever seen._
> 
> _Tyrion: ugly, and you still want her?_
> 
> _Jaime: yes. she’s built like a clegane. bet she’s strong enough to lift my truck over her head._
> 
> _Tyrion: that’s more terrifying than arousing, i hope you realize._
> 
> _Jaime: and she has blue eyes like_
> 
> _Tyrion: like what?_
> 
> _Jaime: i don’t even know how to describe them. think of the bluest thing ever. they’re more blue than that._
> 
> _Tyrion:_
> 
> _Tyrion:_
> 
> _Jaime: you still there?_
> 
> _Tyrion: yes. was just checking how much it might cost to hire a rescue team to come save you._
> 
> _Jaime: don’t you mean save her?_
> 
> _Tyrion: no, i mean save YOU. you’ve clearly been alone on that mountain too long, if you’re waxing poetic about an ugly stranger’s eyes_
> 
> _Jaime: would you think someone needed rescuing if they were really attracted to YOU right from the start?_
> 
> _Tyrion: yes, i would._
> 
> _Jaime: liar. you’d do whatever you could to get in her pants._
> 
> _Tyrion: of course. and then, afterward, i’d hope someone would come and rescue the poor thing from her mad delusions._
> 
> _Jaime: i’m not delusional. aren’t you always saying ‘for every old sock, there’s an old shoe’? maybe i’m the old shoe to her old sock._
> 
> _Tyrion: you have only known her a few hours._
> 
> _Jaime: it’s been just over 40 minutes, actually_
> 
> _Tyrion: you’re making my point for me, you madman. you’re a danger to yourself and others._
> 
> _Jaime: dammit, you mean little goblin_

“Um…” came a soft voice, and Jaime snapped his head up from where he’d been frowning down at the laptop. “Are you okay?” Brienne gazed at him with a puzzled and concerned frown.

He blinked. “What?”

Her hands went to the sweater hem again. _Twist_. “It’s just… you’ve been typing on that as if you’re trying to pound your fingers through it.” _Pleat_. “If I’m inconveniencing you, or making it hard for you to work—” _Wring_.

He slammed the laptop closed. “Sorry. No. It—” _had_ _nothing to do with you_ , he meant to say, but it had had everything to do with her, so he switched to “—was just my brother being a pain.”

“Oh, you have a brother.” It was said with a faint smile and a trace of nostalgia. “They’re… good to have, even when they’re driving you crazy.”

“You have a brother, too?” He gestured to the other side of the sofa and, haltingly, she limped over and perched upon the deep cushion, sitting rigidly, as if expecting to be graded on her posture.

“Used to,” she said, her voice nearly a whisper. “He died.”

“I’m sorry.” The idea of losing Tyrion sent a shaft of pain through Jaime so sharp it took his breath for a moment. He’d have to apologize, maybe send one of those ruinously expensive bottles of cognac Tyrion was so fond of, to his liver’s detriment. “A while ago, or…?”

“Long enough for it not to hurt as much as it used to.”

The light was dying, fading quickly because of the thick snowfall, and the rising dimness in the cabin was throwing her face into shadow. He reached to the nearest lamp and switched it on. The golden light fell in a wide pool and glinted in her eyes, throwing sparks like stars into all that blue. That, too, took his breath, but for a drastically different reason.

Jaime cleared his throat. “I bet that pot roast is almost ready, let me check—”

The wind, a constant moan beyond the snug log walls, rose to a howl that interrupted him mid-sentence.

“Leo should have been back by now,” he muttered, standing, and was about to bundle up and go find the dog when there was an ominous creaking, and a crack like lightning, and then something impacted the cabin with a deafening crash.

And the lights went out.

The room was flung instantly into gloom. Jaime bolted to the back door, throwing it open to reveal a hellscape of swirling gusts and hip-high drifts. Wet snow immediately soaked his sock-clad feet and he cursed, then cursed again at the sight that met him: the wind had broken a massive branch off one of the ancient pines, and the branch had fallen right onto his generator.

It was a sturdy machine, serving him well for the years he’d lived there, but even it could not withstand a sharp impact from a few hundred pounds of wood. A sizeable dent was evident under where the branch had landed, and a thin coil of smoke rose from the creased metal to be snatched away into the surrounding storm.

“Here,” said Brienne, hobbling to him as fast as she was able, her boots already on and his in her hand. He jammed his soggy feet into them and stomped over to the generator, hand shielding his eyes from the flying snow. He could barely see a thing, but it was clear that nothing was possible to repair it until the branch had been removed. Even then… Jaime was a dab hand at minor repairs, and had a full tool kit, but from what little he could tell, it was a job for a professional.

There wasn’t a repairman in all of Westeros he could coax to the top of the mountain to fix it, not in weather like this, not for every dime the Lannisters had.

A wavering pool of light appeared from behind him.

“Hm,” Brienne mused, peering over his shoulder. “Dondarrion brand. You know, I bet I could fix that.”

He turned his head to find her directly behind him, her coat on, his in one hand and one of his oil lanterns lit and swinging from the other. He had to give her credit where it was due: she was not only calm— calmer than he felt, in that moment— but resourceful, as well. Good to have along in a crisis, for sure.

“You can?” he asked, incredulous as he took his coat and tugged it on, but also… not. There was something about Brienne that was unflappable, utterly competent. He bet she could do just about anything she put her mind to.

“I mean, we’ll have to cut this branch off— do you have a chainsaw?— but… yeah.”

He stared at her in wonder, and something on his face must have embarrassed her, because even in the dark of the storm he could tell when she blushed, the rest of her face turning as pink as her cold-chapped cheeks.

“I’m, uh, I’m a mechanical engineer. This sort of thing… yeah. We’ll have to wait until tomorrow—” she angled her head back, peering up at the heavy snowfall and pitch-dark sky overhead. “—It’ll be no problem, as long as you have tools and parts.”

Jaime stared a moment longer, only vaguely aware that his naked hands were freezing and his wet socks were making his feet so cold inside his boots that he might lose a toe or three, and snow was blowing down his neck.

She was _amazing._

“You’re amazing,” he told her, and then he took her by the shoulders, yanked her forward, and planted a big wet kiss right on her shocked mouth.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for your comments! And thanks again to Mikki and Sea_Spirit for their excellent feedback and suggestions :)

_~*~_

_What the hells was happening?_ Brienne wondered. One second, she’d been freezing her kiester off, telling him that she could fix his damaged generator, and the next—

The _next_ —

Had she been cold? She sure wasn’t any longer. That kiss had lasted only a moment, over as soon as it had begun, had been nothing more than a sign of exuberant relief, but…

Numbly, she followed him back inside, dropping her boots to the tray and shedding her coat once more. She stepped in a clump of tracked-in snow, soaking her sock, but barely noticed. All her attention was on Jaime, as it had been from the moment she’d opened her eyes and seen him looming over her.

Jaime was fascinating, she had soon realized. He seemed annoyed by the very existence of the dog, but fretted when it wasn’t there; he was resentful of her intrusion into his solitude, but had taken her into his home without a peep of objection. He begrudged her presence, but offered her everything she might possibly need. And when she’d revealed her grief, though he was a stranger, his face had been open and generous with sympathy.

 _And_ it seemed he was as stubborn as Brienne was. That stunt with the laundry was something she’d have done, too, so she was having trouble being irritated at his high-handedness in washing her clothes after she’d told him not to.

She’d have had no struggle ignoring his charms, if he’d only been ridiculously handsome. Handsome _and_ personable? Oh, this was going to test her resolve, and no mistake. She’d have to sit on her hands the rest of her stay in his cabin, just to ensure she didn’t accost him. The playful glint in his eyes, the flash of his smile, his beautiful hands and the length of his legs and width of his shoulders and—

Her ankle throbbed. She lurched to the nearest chair to sit, watching as Jaime went around using matches on an array of oil lamps and lanterns. Each threw a warm circle of light and soon the room was softly illuminated, the coziness proof against the shrieking wind and swirling snow outside.

She’d need another change of clothes, as would he; their excursion outside had rendered anything exposed to the snow unpleasantly damp once more. But she didn’t want to bother him any more that evening. Her talents with the generator aside, she was profoundly uncomfortable about being such a bother to him. A man like Jaime didn’t live like a hermit unless he was serious about wanting to be alone, and she was exquisitely aware of how much trouble she was causing him, how unwanted her presence was in his home.

“Aren’t you going to take off your coat?” she asked upon noticing that he was still wearing it and his boots. He’d tromped snow all over, leaving little puddles in his wake.

“I’m going to go get Leo,” he told her. “Didn’t want you having to sit in the dark by leaving before I’d lit the lamps.”

Jaime began bundling up as she pondered his consideration.

“Wait,” she said, a bit alarmed that he was dressed so ill for the weather. “Your socks are wet, those are just sweatpants… you can’t go out there like that.”

“Huh?” He looked up from where he’d been zipping his parka. “I’ll be—”

“—frozen solid in ten minutes,” she finished, standing. “No. I’ll fetch you dry things while you take it all off.”

Jaime blinked, seeming inclined to argue, so she hobbled off to the bedroom to excavate dry clothes to the best of her memory from before. Brienne found a close-fitting thermal shirt, yet another wool sweater, and a pair of socks so thick she thought they might not fit into his boots. A peek in the closet revealed a pair of ski pants, and she grabbed them, too, on her way back out to the main room.

He stood where she’d left him, clothing discarded all around him. He’d taken her instruction to heart, and stood before her in nothing but his underwear, a pair of dark red boxer-briefs that left little to her wild and delighted imagination.

With the flames from the lanterns and fire flickering over his almost-nude form, he looked… like a wet-dream come true, honestly, and Brienne had to consciously keep herself from licking her lips at the delectable sight. His entire body was corded with muscle, dusted with golden hair. He had those grooves framing his hips, the ones pointing right toward his—

Brienne lifted wide, disbelieving eyes to his after a thorough and painstaking inventory of his bountiful charms.

“You said to take it all off,” he said, and while he managed not to smile, there was a gleam in his eye that told her he was laughing on the inside.

Brienne had been laughed at plenty of times before. This was just one more time a man would flaunt himself before her, mocking her with what he’d never deign to give her. She felt her face settle into its usual placid lines, the way it did when her emotions deadened at the realization that, once more, she was nothing but a joke.

She held his gaze, not with hostility but with blankness, a total lack of reaction, so he knew that whatever his intentions had been, they’d failed. She wasn’t going to fluster, or sneer, or— or anything. She’d learned her lesson years ago; her only regret, now, was that she’d forgotten it for an hour or two.

Brienne thrust the bundle of clothes at him. “Put these on.”

That gleam in his eye faded as he seemed to realize he’d gone too far. “I’m—”

“And you can wear my boots, I think we’re of a size. Yours must be damp from when you put them on over your wet socks,” she continued.

“Brienne—”

“While you’re gone, I’ll clean up the puddles. I think I saw a mop by the washer—”

“Dammit, wench, listen to me!”

She stopped halfway to the utility room, turning around to stare at him in disbelief. “ _Wench_?”

“I didn’t mean anything by, uh…” Jaime waved a vague hand in the air to indicate his almost-bare form and began hurrying into the clothes she’d given him. “Anything bad, at least. Not to embarrass or upset you. But I did, I can tell. So…” Ski pants on, he thrust his head through the neck of the thermal, hopping as he pulled on first one sock, then the other. “I’m sorry.”

 _Then what_ _did_ _you mean by it?_ she wondered, but truly, did not want to know.

“It’s fine,” she lied, watching as he yanked on the sweater. “Just… go get Leo.”

Jaime stared at her a moment longer, lips parted, hair mussed, looking entirely edible by the flickering light surrounding them. Then he nodded, lacing up her boots, winding a scarf around his neck, pulling on a knit cap and thick gloves. He took one of the lanterns and paused with his hand on the doorknob.

“I should be back in an hour,” Jaime said. “If I’m not… don’t come looking for me. No need for both of us to get caught out there, instead of only me.”

Brienne nodded, though of course she’d be after him at the sixty-first minute without his return. There was no way she’d leave him to languish in the freezing snow and wind.

And then, with a gust of cold air blowing in the opened door, he was gone. She busied herself with mopping, as she’d said. It was slow going, with her limp, but she got it done. She decided to tidy up a little, twitching cushions and throw blankets into position, gathering a cascade of papers into a neat stack on the coffee table, tipping the snowmelt from the boot tray into the sink.

Brienne glanced at the clock: 32 minutes since he’d left. She fished the sodden laundry from the washing machine; the cycle had completed but without the generator, there’d be no using the dryer. She brought the wet clothes to the bathroom, slinging it over the shower curtain to drip-dry as best it could.

At 43 minutes, she tossed another few logs on the fire, since the cabin’s temperature had noticeably dropped in the time since the generator’s demise. She realized he’d need to change yet again, upon his return, and got another set of things out for him, laying them in a neat pile on the foot of his bed.

At 57 minutes after he’d gone, she stepped into a pair of shoes she found in his closet and went onto the porch for more firewood. She pretended to herself it was only to be certain they had plenty to get them through the night, but she knew that for the fiction it was: she wanted to know if there were any sign of him or Leo. Hopefully both of them.

Brienne held the lantern high over her head, trying to have it shed as much light as far as possible. The faint depressions of his footsteps led from the house, toward the woods where they’d left her car. It was black as pitch beyond the wavering circle of light, frigid in a way Brienne could feel in her bones, and worry bloomed in her belly.

She was somewhat certain Leo would be fine, he had all that fur and animals were better at enduring extreme weather, but Jaime… Brienne tried to think if she had left her car unlocked, when she’d left it. If he could reach it, he could at least try to get through the night with a bit of shelter? And Leo’s body heat keeping him warm, if the dog could be coaxed into the car?

It was very silly, standing there with the lantern held aloft like the Titan of Braavos, but… she was unwilling to go back inside, feeling like that would be giving up on the hope of Jaime’s return. She began to shiver and realized it was time for her to go inside or risk a chill she couldn’t recover from. Feeling resigned and a bit guilty— why? It wasn’t _her_ dog— Brienne scooped up a token armful of firewood so it wouldn’t be a complete lie, that she’d gone out for the logs, and turned to go back in when she heard a faint _woof_ over the keening wind.

Dropping the wood heedlessly back onto the pile, she spun around, lantern high once more as she peered into the gloom. Had she imagined it?

But no. “Woof!” she heard again, and then, at the very edge of the light, Leo bounded into view. “Woof!”

A moment later, a snowy form appeared behind the dog, and Brienne slumped back against the door, suddenly weak. Tears sprang to her eyes, just from the cold, she was sure.

“What the hells are you doing outside?” Jaime shouted as he waded toward her through the drifts, now past his waist. Hanging from his hand was a snow-covered lump of… something. “Go back in!”

 _As if._ Brienne stood there, shaking from cold and relief, until he had slogged the last few yards and clomped up the stairs to the porch, yanking his scarf down past his chin. His face was bright red and his absurdly long eyelashes were coated in frost; his breath puffed hard into little clouds around them. But his eyes were sharp and alert, boring into her for a long, electric moment.

“I hate this dog,” he informed her cheerfully, when he spoke at last. “If we’re snowed in long enough, I’ve decided that we’ll eat him. I won’t even feel that bad.”

“Yes, you would,” she contradicted, then gave a long, rolling shudder. It was not from the cold.

Jaime squinted, peering closely. “How long have you been out here?” Reaching past her, he pushed open the door and chivvied her inside. “Get inside, you idiot,” he told Leo, who’d continued to romp around, still as delighted as ever with the white stuff falling on him.

Brienne hobbled for the mop once more as Jaime stomped and bustled about, shedding his gear, and Leo gave himself a brisk shake that distributed a fine mist of water in his general vicinity.

“I’ll go change again,” he told her with a wry shake of the head. “Fourth outfit of the day.”

While he was in the bedroom, Brienne realized that the snowy lump he’d deposited on the floor mat by the door was the suitcase she’d left in the abandoned car. He’d hauled it back with him, even though it would be a hindrance, and she knew it was because he thought she’d want it. As an apology for stripping down, earlier? Or something else?

Her heart gave a lurch in her chest. For a long moment, she stood there like a simpleton, staring down at the suitcase as the snow on it began to melt and drip to the floor. Mechanically, she grasped its handle and propped it in the boot tray to finish its dripping where it could be contained, and reached for the mop yet again.

Once the floor was dry once more, and her brain was working properly again, Brienne decided that Jaime was likely starving, after all that tromping through the woods. Keeping one’s body temperature up took a lot of energy, she knew. She’d explored the contents of the slow cooker, at one point, and they were still quite hot, so she dished up bowls for each of them along with some crusty rolls and a crock of butter. Then she placed an oil lamp in the center of the table and told herself it was so they could see better and not because it cast a romantic glow over the meal.

When Jaime emerged, Brienne busied herself with giving Leo a bowl of dog chow from the sack she found in a cupboard so she didn’t have to see his face when he took in the scene she’d created.

“I thought you’d be hungry,” she mumbled.

“I am,” he said after a pause, adding lightly, “Good thinking.”

She hazarded a shy smile, still avoiding his eyes, and took the seat across from him. His hair was a wild tangle, static from removing his knit cap making it stand up every which way, and she couldn’t repress a faint grin at the picture he presented.

“So what happened?” she asked after a few mouthfuls. The pot roast was delicious; he was a talented cook, it would seem. “Where did you find him? I thought he might have gone back to my rental car.”

“That’s a rental?” At her nod, he whistled. “Kiss your deposit goodbye; the branches made short work of the paint job.”

Brienne grimaced. “I had a feeling. So he did go there?”

“No, but that’s where I looked first. Found his footsteps and followed them. He’d made a cozy nest under a fallen tree and was snug as a bug.” Jaime slanted a narrow glance at where Leo was crunching his kibble with enthusiasm. “Showed no remorse whatsoever for putting me through all that effort.”

Leo looked up, then, and bestowed a daft doggy grin upon them before burying his face in his bowl once more.

“When it was time to come back, I realized I’d gotten turned around and couldn’t find the direction,” he continued, his voice pitched lower, quieter, eyes on his bowl as he took another mouthful. “That dummy was no help, of course. We wandered around for— for a while, and I thought maybe I should go back to the den under the log Leo had created, or try to get to your car again.”

Jaime lifted his gaze. “But then I saw you. Or I saw the lantern, at least, and knew which way to go.” His eyes never wavered from hers. “I wouldn’t have made it back, if not for that.”

Brienne felt exquisitely aware of something. Everything. Of her body, of his, of their proximity with only the little table between them, the utter quiet without the background hum of appliances, only the pop and crackle of the fire and Leo’s occasional snuffle as he finished his meal.

“I was worried about you,” she hazarded. “And— and Leo. You and Leo.” He smiled faintly, aware of her hasty correction. “I was giving you another ten minutes— fifteen, max— and then I was—”

“You were going back inside to stay warm, as I told you,” he finished for her, a thread of steel in his tone. “Right?”

Brienne swallowed. His eyes were the most beautiful shade of green she’d ever seen, and his face was dead serious. Jaime truly had meant for her to remain in the cabin while he froze, just to make sure she was safe instead of risking herself to find him.

“Right,” she agreed, her voice soft, and knew they were both aware it was a lie.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Glad you're enjoying it, thank you for reading!

~*~

When they’d eaten their fill, and the rest of the pot roast had been put away, it was time for discussion of more practical things. Brienne sat sideways on the couch at Jaime’s insistence, feet up and a plastic bag of snow wrapped in a dish towel and plopped on top of her ankle.

“We’ll have to spend the night in front of the fire,” Jaime declared. “While there’s a certain charm to sleeping on the bearskin rug—” he flashed her a naughty grin, making her flush “—I’ve tried it, in the past, and it doesn’t live up to the hype. So I suggest we drag the mattress from the bed out here and sleep on that.”

 _Together_ , he left unsaid, but it was understood, the word hovering in the air as if he’d shouted it.

“I— I can sleep on the sofa,” she stammered. “It’s not far from the fire, with enough blankets—”

“You _could_ ,” said Jaime, “but… fair warning: that’s where Leo sleeps, so you’ll have to fight him for it. And from one who knows: you’ll lose. He kicks like a mule. You’ll end up on the floor anyway.”

“Ahaha. Okay.” A fiery blush flowed, lava-hot, down her throat to her chest. “Well, uh… when? You’re probably tired, and I know I am…”

“Yeah, might as well get to it.” He stretched his arms over his head and a sliver of golden skin was revealed between the waistband of his sweatpants and the risen hem of his sweater. Brienne averted her eyes after one sizzling, lingering glance, but something told her he’d seen her look. “I can handle it alone. You should stay off that ankle.”

She opened her mouth to argue, but he continued, “…though I know you won’t.”

She stifled a grin. He knew her too well already. They shifted the chairs and coffee table back against the walls to create enough room for the king-size mattress by the fire. Then she limped after him to the bedroom, where they peeled the thick duvet off before wrestling the mattress off the bed frame and onto its side, sliding it along the floor until they could let it flop into place.

Jaime retrieved the duvet and with a flourish, flicked it into place. Brienne had fetched the pillows and, giving them each a thorough plumping, dropped one of them on one side, and the other on the opposite end.

“We can sleep head to foot…?” she said carefully.

Jaime gave her a look of what she could only term ‘fond exasperation’. “Do you really think I’m so irresistible that you won’t be able to control yourself if we both sleep with our heads at the same side?”

 _Yes_. “Fine,” she grumbled, snatching up the nearest pillow and tossing it in the direction of its mate. “There.”

“You concede with such grace.” He laughed. “But I’ll go get more blankets so we don’t have to share.”

She only tossed him a glare. “I’m going to use the bathroom.”

He waved a hand in its direction. “Be my guest. I’ll put Leo out one last time.”

Brienne changed into her flannel pajamas, splashed her face with frigid water and brushed her teeth, glad that the plumbing wasn’t dependent on the generator to work. When she emerged, Jaime was just letting Leo back in. As soon as Jaime finished rubbing his fur dry with a towel, the dog leaped onto the sofa exactly as Jaime had said he would, sprawling with abandon over the leather upholstery.

Jaime disappeared into the bathroom, and Brienne went around dousing the lamps and lanterns until the only light remaining came from the hearth. At last, with no other excuses to delay, she went to the bed and lowered herself onto it. It was one of those extra-high-quality mattresses and every weary cell in her body sighed in relief as she lay back.

The pillow, too, was luxurious, as was the duvet, impossibly soft and smooth. The down soon warmed around her and she was snug and drowsy by the time Jaime joined her.

“Anything I should be warned about?” he asked lightly as he drew the blankets up around himself. “Do you snore like a truck engine? Are you a shameless snuggler? Is my virtue at risk?”

He didn’t sound too bothered by any of those possibilities.

“No to all of those,” she told him, her tone severe, but he only laughed.

“Pity,” he said. “I could use a good snuggling.”

But he didn’t touch her, not even an accidental brush of the hand as they settled in. Even with two people of their considerable size, the bed was plenty wide enough to give them each their own space. Relief and disappointment warred within Brienne, but she was too tired to think much on it. Before long, she was asleep.

Movement against her had Brienne come awake all of a sudden. For a moment, she was disoriented— it was dark, only the dying fire to offer a faint bit of illumination, and something heavy was draped over half of her. A man, to be specific _._

Sheer panic filled her, then determination, and she tensed in preparation to give the fight of her life… but then he gave a sleepy groan, probably in response to how rigid she’d gone under him, and with a start Brienne remembered.

The blizzard— the rental car— her ankle— the dog— the cabin— Jaime— the generator— the mattress before the hearth— _oh_.

Then she realized the full import of what she’d awoken to: Jaime with a thigh pressed between hers, arm around her waist and chest pressed to hers and face buried against her neck. He’d abandoned any pretense of sleeping on opposite sides of the mattress, abandoning his blankets to burrow beneath the duvet with her. It seemed Jaime really did want a snuggle and was not shy about making it happen.

Suddenly, any chill she had taken from the gust of cold air dissipated. Jaime hummed and rubbed the tip of his nose against her throat, leaving a little trail of fire in its wake, and just like that, Brienne was wet, the burgeoning attraction she’d felt upon first sight of him flaring into full-bore arousal.

 _So this is what it’s like_ , she thought, not without some humor. To be this close to a man one genuinely wanted, instead of one she was settling for, because he was settling for _her_.

He smelled good, clean and musky, with an underlying scent of snow, and his hair was soft against her chin. She cautiously brought a hand to rest on the arm wrapped so snugly around her waist. The sleeve had rucked up while he slept, and his skin was warm on her fingertips, the dusting of hair making her tingle.

But while it was enjoyable to lay there and bask in the experience, it was also supremely dissatisfying not to do anything else, and soon Brienne began to feel itchy and restless. There was no way she could fall asleep with him flopped onto her, so she either had to move or resign herself to steeping in a pool of her own frustration the remainder of the night. She was sure she and Leo could come to some compromise about sharing the sofa.

As she pondered her dilemma, he shifted again, his muscle-corded thigh rubbing up between her legs and sending a mind-blowing thrill of sensation spiraling through her.

She _had_ to move. But how?

Slowly, slowly, she slid her leg out from between his, biting her lip when his thigh rubbed against her one last time. Then she waited, but he didn’t stir; good. Next, she removed his arm from her waist, trying to tuck it close to his chest, but that meant it was close to her chest as well. He grumbled and twitched his wrist from her grasp to settle his palm right on her breast. Meager as it was, it was still exquisitely sensitive, and in her heightened state of horniness the touch was like a thunderbolt. She gasped.

Was it the sound? The sudden rising of her chest at the inhalation? Whatever it was, it woke Jaime. His head shifted on her shoulder and his hand tightened around her breast. His knee delved between her thighs once more, drawing another gasp, and then he lifted his head to look her in the face.

In the dim light, he looked unrealistically, improbably handsome. His mussed hair glinted golden from the flickering flames, tumbling around his face in a lion’s mane. Shadows fell over his eyes, preventing her from seeing their expression. Was he disgusted? Appalled?

There was movement against her hip, not a lot, of something… shifting. Firming. _He’s getting hard._ The knowledge of it made something clench deep within, and Brienne felt empty, hollow, _hungry_.

“So this can go two ways,” Jaime said, his voice raspy from sleep. And something more. “We can just get up and dive into a snow bank outside and forget this ever happened.”

 _Sounds cold_ , she thought with a tinge of panic. “Or?”

“Or we can give in to what we’ve wanted from the beginning and fuck each other stupid.”

What _we’ve_ wanted? He’d been attracted to her right away, as well? It didn’t quite seem possible, except the proof was digging a hole into her pelvis at that very moment.

It was a bad idea. She’d only just met him. It would complicate things. Who knew how long she’d be stuck in this cabin with him? It could make a tense situation unbearable.

On the other hand, even if it tipped their dynamic into true unpleasantness, the pleasure gained might be worth it. She was more turned on than she’d ever been in her entire life and they hadn’t even _done_ anything yet, only press up against each other.

“That second one sounds like the way to go,” she found herself saying, breathless, feeling impossibly daring and reckless.

“Oh, good,” said Jaime, and kissed her.

He didn’t waste much time on preliminaries or seductions, seeming to think that since she was a sure thing they weren’t needed and… no, they weren’t. She was _very_ ready for him, so sensitive that she could feel her own heartbeat pounding between her legs. His tongue toyed with hers, his hand slid under her shirt to pinch her nipple, and another flush of heat coursed over her as she grew even more slick and ready for him to be inside her.

Which she hoped would be _soon_ ; his fingers on her nipple were beginning to make her feel frantic. Had her breasts always been so connected to her sexual reaction? Had she ever gotten so wild from their stimulation? It could be that neither of her prior lovers had ever paid much attention to them, but she thought it was more likely the current lover that was responsible. His fingers were strong and deft as he rolled and tugged on her nipple, making it swell and tighten, making her arch and writhe and whimper. It had never been like that with Hyle, even when he bothered to try.

“Gods, you’re responsive,” he breathed, his tone wondrous.

“ _More_ ,” she pleaded. “I want— I want—”

“What?” Jaime grabbed the hem of her pajama top and leaned off of her long enough to yank the garment off. “What do you want?”

“ _Everything_ ,” she whispered. “I want you to do everything to me.”

He groaned. “Everything can be a lot of things. I don’t know if you’re ready for some of them.”

“You’ll make me ready.” She undulated her hips against him, relishing the stroke of the hard ridge of his cock over the mound of her cunt, separated by layers of unwanted fabric, and how he groaned at the sensation.

“I think you’re already pretty ready.” Jaime lowered his mouth to the nipple he’d been tormenting, taking it between his lips, and Brienne keened at the sudden suction, at the wet lashing of his tongue against the swollen tip even as his hand began to twist and pull the other.

“Yes!” Her head swam, disbelief warring with greed— could it be possible? She was about to come after only a few minutes, and he hadn’t even touched her below the waist. “I am. I’m ready. _Please_.”

“Oh, I like when you beg me,” he purred, sounding very satisfied but… also on the edge of losing control, himself.

It should have irked her, should have made her want to shove him away and maybe yell at him a bit. Instead, she only softened and melted against him further, offering herself up to his pleasures and whims.

“Yes,” she ended up saying, softly, her need plain. “Please, Jaime.”

“It would just be cruel to resist when you ask so nicely.” He shifted off her only long enough to divest himself of his clothes, then yank off the rest of what she wore. “Shit. You look like— like a goddess or something,” he marveled, propped on an elbow and staring down at the full display of her nudity. “I swear I’ve seen sculptures of you in a museum somewhere.”

 _His erection has drawn all the blood from his head_ , she thought. _He’s hallucinating._

Besides, if anyone were a god, or god-adjacent, it was he: his body was the stuff of real, actual dreams, and his cock was like something from a porn film. It was long and so thick that even her big hand couldn’t reach around it, with a flared, succulent head and a saucy upward curve that hinted at prime g-spot stimulation. She squeezed it and they moaned together when a thin stream of fluid coursed from him to trickle over her fingers.

“In me,” she whispered. “I need that in me.”

“Yesss,” Jaime hissed, shifting between her legs before freezing. “Tell me you’re on some form of birth control. And that you’re clean.”

“I’m on the shot,” gasped Brienne as she wrapped her thighs around his narrow hips. “And I’m clean. Haven’t had sex in a year.”

“I haven’t had sex in _two_ years. I’m clean, too.” He reached down to test the waters, as it were, and found them flowing a-plenty. “ _Gods_ , you’re wet—”

He broke off to give her a ferocious kiss, hips rocking against her, before rearing back to position himself. “Ready?”

“I’ve been rea— oh! _Oh_! Yes! Jai— yes!”

He slipped into her effortlessly, and she devolved to incoherence. He felt better than anything else ever had, lodged so deep within her, so big and hard, and she lay there and trembled in shocked pleasure, until she realized he wasn’t moving, either, was only trembling right along with her.

“I’m not going to be able to take this slow,” he panted, his breath humid on her cheek.

“Good,” was her response, and she didn’t, she wanted him fast and hard and— he withdrew and thrust again, and she cried out in ecstasy. “Like that! Just like that, don’t stop, don’t—”

He fucked her, exactly as she wanted, without finesse or grace, quick and deep, making every nerve ending in her body quiver in delight. Brienne sank her blunt nails into the meat of his ass, using it as leverage to pull him even further inside as she bucked up to meet him. The stretch of her cunt around him was gorgeous and her head seemed like it was floating off her neck, blood pounding thickly through excited veins.

It was no time at all before she arched and writhed, legs spread as wide as they could go as she ground herself against him and wailed, the climax drawing her into a taut bow. Head back, star-blind, she cried out with every wave of sensation crashing over her.

Jaime thrashed against her, cock pummeling her cunt, shouting and incoherent as he came, hands hard as he gripped her, sure to leave bruises she’d relish the next day.

They lay there, gasping like landed trout, for long moments afterward. As the pleasure receded, eddying back, fatigue crept in. Brienne had had a hell of a day, and now a hell of a night, and exhaustion would show her no mercy. She was vaguely aware of Jaime slipping free of her to fall to his back at her side, of his chest heaving as he fought to regain lost breath, but could do little more than raise a hand in his direction, its weight making her drop it, limp, against his hip.

“Yeah,” he agreed, sounded as shocked and weary as she was. “Yeah.”

“Yeah,” she mumbled back, and passed out.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Believe it or not, I had the part about smoking written before my catastrophic discovery and subsequent avalanche of disappointment. Some of you know what I'm talking about. The rest of you... just ignore me, I'm full of nonsense.
> 
> I thought I'd do a second graphic to herald the last half of the story-- 6 chapters to go, including this one, and then we're done! I hope you're enjoying it so far, let me know what you think! I plan on starting to publish another story by February, wish me luck!
> 
> Thanks as always to Sea_Spirit and Mikki for their invaluable help as betas <3
> 
> Please check the end note for a photo of a spider, in case you're having trouble visualizing it (it's not an arachnid).

~*~

Jaime came awake when a shaft of sunlight penetrated the layer of snow caking one of the windows and tried to burn a hole through his eyelids. Grumbling, still half-asleep, he rolled to his side to avoid the sun’s attempt to blind him and found himself pressed quite intimately against Brienne’s back.

There was a split second before he recognized her, remembered what had gone on the day before— the night before— but when he did, his smile could not have been repressed even if he’d wanted to, and he tucked himself around her even more closely.

Fucking her had been incredible. Her shy enthusiasm, inhibitions sweetly yielding to her desire… it had been so good. He was not unaccustomed to his partners being very attracted to him, but Brienne was a different kind of woman. She didn’t distribute her affections freely, of that he was certain. That she’d wanted him enough to ignore the apprehensions he knew she had was heady stuff. He felt like he’d earned her, somehow, and it made something primal within him lift its head and roar in satisfaction.

He had mixed feelings about having stripped down to his skivvies, before going out to find Leo. He hadn’t missed her fascination; she’d inspected his body as if trying to decide which part she’d nibble on first, and in that moment, he’d known he had her. He’d experienced a heady rush of triumph but it quickly faded; he’d meant it as a joke, in response to her command to ‘take it all off’. He’d have done the same to Tyrion, relishing his brother’s eye-rolling and snarky demands not to make him nauseous.

But clearly Brienne had not seen the humor in it. He wasn’t sure what about it had made such a peculiar, hurt expression take the place of her attraction, but… it had shamed him. Reminded him that there was more to her than just a potential fuck. He’d thought about that again and again while wading through the snow in search of Leo. By the time he’d found the dog, he’d been disgusted with himself and convinced she despised him, and rightly so. His fetching her suitcase from the car had been in blatant hope it would help her to forgive him.

And then he’d seen the light beaming from the cabin’s porch, a beacon held by a woman that he deserved no part of. Looking around, he’d realized he’d been turning away from the cabin, not toward it, and likely would have walked right off the mountain’s steep edge if he’d kept going another ten minutes.

Instead of despising him, Brienne had _worried_ about him, enough to stand outside with a fucking lantern until she was half-frozen. When he’d finally dragged his tired feet onto the porch, had been able to look into her eyes and see the depth of her relief and longing, it had taken everything he had not to simply haul her against him for another kiss, something deeper and longer-lasting than the playful buss he’d dropped on her earlier.

And she kept being so damned sweet. He knew, as well as he knew his own name, that she’d have been out there looking for him, and why? For what reason? He’d like to think it was because she liked him that much, but… no. She was just that impossibly, unrealistically decent, and good, and honorable. She’d have believed it the right thing to do, so she’d have done it.

There was no way in any of the seven hells he was good enough for her.

Fortunately for Jaime, he’d never denied himself something only because he didn’t deserve it.

He nuzzled into her hair, enjoying the scent of her: shampoo and woman, no less feminine than any other despite her face and build. Her skin, too, was as soft as any other woman’s, he learned as he ran curious fingertips down her bare arm, just as satiny, with freckles that dared him to try to kiss them all.

He began touching his lips to her shoulder, her neck, with open-mouthed caresses, licking feather-light over her pulse and smiling against her throat when she murmured and leaned back against him.

“Jaime,” she sighed, still asleep, and the fact that she knew it was him, that his name was on her lips even when she was half-conscious, had him hard— harder— in the space of a few seconds.

“Brienne,” he said softly, right into her skin, punctuated with another kiss, and slid his hand around to her breasts. He gave first one, then the other, a firm squeeze, was pleased when her nipples stiffened into hard points that jutted against his palm. He teased one, pulling and twisting, until her breathing roughened and she began moving against him, arching her chest into his hand and her ass into the curve of his body around hers.

“Jaime,” she said again, her voice less blurred with sleep this time. She rolled her head on the pillow, looking over her shoulder at him, and yet again he felt the force of her gaze like a blow. He switched to the other nipple, gave it a good pinch, and her mouth opened in a euphoric gasp.

He took advantage, covering her parted lips with his own. He’d expected to have to coax her to respond, as he had last night, but the morning seemed to find her done with anything like nerves or apprehension. She kissed him back, meeting his passion and stealing his breath.

They drew back for air, eyes wide, panting, and then dove at each other again, suddenly ravenous. Jaime ran his hand down her side, over her hip and inward. But he was going too slow for Brienne; she grabbed his hand and pushed it between her legs, filling his palm with the plump heat of her cunt. The hair was surprisingly silky, and he stroked through it to her clit, circling it with a fingertip and making her jolt against him before he journeyed below it, between slick, fragile inner lips to the soft wet opening he still recalled gripping him so beautifully only a few hours earlier. He wanted to be there again. Now.

He couldn’t stop kissing her long enough to ask, but only withdrew his hand to slide it under her thigh, lifting it an inch.

“Hmm?” he asked into the kiss.

“Hmm!” she replied, and he drew her leg up and back, propping it on his own so he could get his cock into position. Her breath hitched when he sank into her, and then she shuddered so hard that their mouths detached.

“Oh!” Brienne exclaimed, head flung back. “Oh, _gods_!”

Jaime returned his hand to her cunt, cupping it, squeezing hard, and she shook in his arms. He slid a finger down to where they were joined, ran its tip around where she was stretched so tightly around him and she bucked, throwing her hips back to take him deeper. He rubbed the pad of his finger over her clit with every inward stroke and she cried out.

He wormed his other arm under and around her, bringing his hand up to lightly cup her jaw, pinning her between his grasp above and his pistoning hips below. Brienne began to writhe and keen, shaking in his embrace. Her climax made her flex and clench around him, and that was all he needed to come as well, straining against her, shouting hoarsely, eyes clamped so tightly shut as ecstasy wracked him that fireworks bloomed behind his lids.

Jaime came back to himself slowly, relaxed and blissed out, to find Brienne trembling in his arms, panting “oh, gods” over and over.

“Brienne?” he mumbled.

“Oh, _gods_ ,” she gasped.

He untangled their limbs and leaned back, tugging until she flopped onto her back. “Are you okay?”

She gazed blankly up at him, looking absolutely thunderstruck. Her mouth worked, but no sound came out.

Jaime grinned. “You’re fine.”

It could take a person that way, sometimes, be so affecting that their mind was blown. He gathered Brienne against him and held her close. Her arms came around him and then he knew the answer to one of his early wonderings about her: how tightly could those arms hold him?

_Very_ tightly, he learned; at one point, he thought his ribs were creaking but… he didn’t mind. Kind of liked it, in fact. Sure, he’d have bruises the next day, but it was worth it.

When she had calmed and lay still at last, he ran a hand down the long, long length of her spine and asked, “Are you a breakfast person? Or a coffee-and-cigarettes person?”

She drew back to give him a hostile look. “I do not _smoke_.” She looked so offended he laughed.

“Okay, okay, but my point stands: you want something to eat? Cereal, a bagel… we’d have to cook it over the fire, but there’s also toast, eggs and… I think I have some sausages?”

She perked up. “Eggs and toast and sausages and cereal? That sounds good.”

Jaime blinked. He’d meant one or the other of what he’d mentioned, but… “Sure?”

She practically bounced off the floor, but the moment she stood up, she remembered two things: she was naked, and her ankle was sprained. Down she went on the mattress, like a 20 kilo sack of flour, yanking the duvet back over her shivering form while muttering, “ow… cold… ow… cold…”

He laughed again and reached over her to grab where they’d flung their clothes the night before. It brought him looming over her, and when he looked down, she was looking up at him, her eyes limpid and clear. The garments fell from his suddenly-limp fingers and he froze, feeling pinned by her gaze. She looked young and impossibly sweet, and he was struck again by the dichotomy between her appearance and her nature.

Slowly, Brienne stretched up and met his mouth with hers. Her long pale lashes closed and her hands framed his face, holding him carefully as she moved her lips against his. Jaime did not close his eyes, though, watching her intently even as he kissed her in return. Knowing he’d teased out such passion and gentleness from such a huge, strong woman made his chest ache with tenderness.

It was not a kiss intended to lead to sex, and when it drew naturally to a close, Jaime could not keep from smiling. It seemed to surprise her, somehow, but she rallied quickly and smiled back, a shy and close-lipped thing at first, then widening until she was beaming at him in all her crooked-toothed glory. Then her stomach growled, and she tilted back her head and laughed.

Something sharp pierced his chest and lodged there, barbed. A feeling of panic flared to life within him but he clamped down on it. She’d bared herself before him, just now, far more than merely the nudity of her body, and if he jerked away, it would hurt her. But he had to have some time to himself.

_It’s times like these when a Lannister shines,_ he thought, glad for once of his ability to put on a good front, and used his lightest, most casual tone to say, “I need to wash. Everything is in the fridge, if you want to get started on breakfast.” With a last quick peck on the mouth, he levered himself away and began to pull on the things he’d discarded the night before.

The cabin’s interior was frigid, and more so the further from the fire he went. In the bathroom, the toilet seat lid was icy even through his sweatpants when he sat on it and buried his face in his hands, elbows on knees.

It was one thing to like her, to have sex with her, but Jaime absolutely would not let himself fall in love with her. He hadn’t gone half-crazy extricating himself from his previous life, and building a new one, only to go right back to where he’d been before. The idea of returning to live in a city, which his father and Cersei would take as a tacit announcement that he was theirs to use and manipulate once more, made a frisson of panic ripple through him.

_No_.

They’d get the generator running, then he’d clear out the satellite dish and tell Tyrion to figure out a way to get Brienne from the cabin to the bottom of the mountain, or over to the next mountain, or anywhere else on the planet besides Jaime’s cabin.

He stood and ran the tap, lathering up a washcloth with soap and frigid water, flinching when it touched his skin. He hurried through it and redressed— his fourth outfit of yesterday had hardly been worn so was practically pristine— then emerged to the main room to find Brienne had stoked the fire into a blaze that was already making inroads on the low temperature. Leo was nowhere to be found, so he assumed she’d let the dog out.

Dressed again in the things she’d borrowed from him the day before, she looked up from the cereal she’d been devouring to smile sheepishly.

“I wasn’t sure how you wanted to cook everything, but didn’t think you’d mind if I got started…” She gestured with the spoon toward the bowl. “I’m really hungry in the morning.”

He couldn’t hide his smile. “No, go ahead. I have a spider around here somewhere.” He ambled to the kitchen and began digging in one of the corner cupboards.

“A… spider?”

“Came with the cabin,” he said, halfway crawling into the cupboard before his hand grasped what it sought. Dragging it out with a series of clangs as it banged against other items, he finally extracted himself from the cupboard and held up his prize. “I use it when the generator’s out, which is hardly ever, but it doesn’t hurt to be prepared.”

They both looked down at it. Cobwebs clung to the legs, there were several rust spots, and it looked like a mouse might have nested in it, at one point.

“It’ll need a scrubbing,” Jaime conceded, “but it’ll get the job done.”

“A _good_ scrubbing,” Brienne murmured absently, swiping errant cobwebs from his hair.

The gentle touch made Jaime’s hand clench tighter around the spider’s handle to keep from reaching for her. He had a powerful urge to drop the three-legged skillet and kiss her and strip off her sweatpants; to lift her to the counter and wrap her legs around his head and lick her to a screaming orgasm. She’d still taste of him— as she should— and her hands would be in his hair, tugging as she writhed against his mouth and—

“Jaime?”

He blinked and realized she was watching him curiously. “Sorry. You made me think of something, is all.” He angled the spider so it blocked her viewpoint of his groin. Bad enough he _felt_ like a sex maniac, with her around; he didn’t want her to think he _was_ one, as well. “What were you saying?”

“That I’ll go wash up, if you get breakfast started, and then if you show me where the chainsaw and tools and parts are, I can get going on the generator.”

“Oh. By yourself?” At her surprise, he continued, “I thought I could at least hand you things, like a nurse for a doctor during surgery.”

Now she looked more surprised, not less. “You’d do that?”

“…yes?” What sort of assholes was she used to dealing with, that would just abandon her to a big job like that? Especially with an injury?

She smiled at him again, that same big crooked smile that had made his heart twist, and it did it again, and Jaime knew that even if Tyrion had a helicopter arrive at that very moment, if she walked off his mountain and he never saw her again that— it would be too late.

_Oh, hells._  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  
> 
>   
> 


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Glad you're enjoying all the smut (oh yeah, and the rest of the story) :D Hope you like this next chapter, let me know what you think!

~*~

Brienne disappeared to clean up a bit. Jaime occupied himself with using steel wool to scour the spider clean. A squawk came from the bathroom and he couldn’t hold back his laughter.

“D-don’t laugh!” she shouted from a crack in the door. “The water is s-so cold!”

“It’s bracing!” he shouted back. “Don’t you want to be a pioneer woman?”

Her lack of answer seemed to indicate that, no, she was happier with all the modern conveniences.

Once the pan was spotless, he dried it and put it in position over the fire, then added the sausages. While they sizzled, he stepped into his now-thankfully-dry boots and ventured outside to the branch that had tried its best to flatten his generator.

It was still overcast, the clouds above seeming so low Jaime almost felt like he could reach up and touch them, an expanse of solid and unbroken gray. But the snow had slowed to light flurries, and there seemed an end in sight for the storm.

He snapped off two sturdy twigs just as Leo bounded up, caked in snow and grinning wildly. Jaime knocked as much snow off the dog as possible, but he still tracked in a wet trail. Jaime chased him with a towel, drying off him and the floor so Brienne didn’t slip when she finally emerged from the bathroom, then dashed to rescue the sausages, which had started to smoke a bit in the spider.

Slices of bread went on the twigs; he propped them near the flames and concentrated on both cracking eggs into the skillet and keeping Leo— who didn’t mind his food well-done— from the sausages.

When Brienne joined him, she was flushed, her hair damp and her face fresh-looking. She plopped down next to him, in front of the hearth, and took one of the twigs.

“I feel like I’m back in camp,” she said with a wry smile.

What should have seemed like a hassle ended up being being far more fun than Jaime had expected. Everything ended up a bit more charred than ideal, but Brienne kindly insisted that she liked her toast a little burnt and Leo happily accepted anything they judged inedible.

Jaime provided her with several elastic bandages and helped her to securely strap her ankle, though she said it was much better after a night’s rest. When it was supported enough for her to walk outside without too much discomfort, they bundled up and headed for the generator.

The chainsaw roared to life, and Jaime stood back to watch Brienne dismantle the immense branch with supreme confidence and skill. After it lay in a heap of fireplace-sized logs and kindling-ready sticks, she switched it off and turned to him, not even slightly winded.

Her face was pink from the cold, her eyes sparkled, and she looked— happy. Happy to be doing something, happy to be of help.

“Got the tools? And the parts?” she asked as she handed the chainsaw to him.

He’d arranged everything in a row on a nearby stump he’d cleared of snow. She pried the dented cover off the generator and peered inside, humming to herself as she evaluated the damage.

“This isn’t bad at all!” she announced at last. “Just a few things knocked out of position, maybe a little hammering back into shape needed…”

Her voice faded away as she became immersed in her work, buried to the elbows in the generator’s guts. Every few minutes she’d hold out a grimy-gloved hand for a wrench or screwdriver, and at one point she took a mallet and just started whacking with abandon at something, creating a terrific noise that sent Leo scurrying away so quickly he sent up little clouds of snow with each footstep.

Jaime watched, and helped as directed, and by the time she was done, red face beaming in satisfaction and smeared in grease, his body was alive with desire and he wanted to throw her down on the trampled snow and make love to her right there, among the wood chips and discarded pliers.

He opened the door and gestured for her to precede him inside.

“Don’t you want to switch it on, see if it works right?” she asked, confused.

“No,” he said pleasantly, “I want to fuck you until you scream.”

She froze, completely shocked. Jaime’s patience waned rapidly.

“Unless you want to do it here. Chilly, I’ll grant you, but there’s not a neighbor for miles.” He glanced around. “Okay, up against the wall with you.”

She permitted him to press her against the house and bury his face against her throat. She quaked in his arms as he busied himself unzipping her coat, yelping when he ran cold hands under her sweater and over the smooth, sculpted planes of her midriff and sides.

“Inside, then,” she said breathlessly as he kissed up to her chin.

Jaime grinned, snatching her hand and pulling her behind him. They left a wake of clothing as they stripped on their way to the mattress, still on the floor before the hearth; they fumbled in their eagerness as they strove to get into position, to get him inside her—

Ah, it was good. Fast, clumsy, but no less satisfying for all that, and Brienne did indeed scream. More than once.

When it was over, Brienne’s stomach grumbled again, so Jaime made lunch while she turned on the generator and ensured it worked properly. They were quite pleased when the heat came back on and the cabin returned to its former toasty self.

They hauled the mattress back to its normal home on the bed, and then Jaime climbed onto the roof with a shovel to clear out the satellite dish so he could use his phone and internet once more. That accomplished, Brienne busied herself with getting the laundry from the previous day washed— it had dried as stiff as a board, slung over the shower rod— and Jaime fired up his computer and dashed off an email to Tyrion.

_We’re all still alive. Plenty of food, generator’s working again, nothing to worry about._

When he was done, Brienne approached him, waving her phone bashfully at him. “Mine has no service. I think the cloud cover is too dense, or we’re too far from a cell tower. Can I use yours? I have to tell the cabin rental agency to give up on my reservation.”

Eagerness leaped within him. She was giving up on going to the cabin she’d rented? She was willing to spend her entire vacation here, with him?

But then she continued.

“Once it’s safe to travel again, I’m just… going to go home. I had thought that a change of scenery would make the holiday seem less solitary, now that I’m the only one left in my family, but…” She shrugged. “Alone is still alone, no matter where you are.”

Jaime tamped down his disappointment that she intended to leave as soon as she could, though… was it really a surprise? Hadn’t that always been her intention? His intention, as well? This had only been a nice interlude for each of them.

Then she shocked him by flashing an impish smile.

“Turns out all I needed to feel better was some quality time with a new friend.”

“Is that what we are?” he asked, his tone lighter than he felt. “Friends?” He tugged her down on the sofa with him, stretching out sideways until, somehow, they were both crammed onto it, pressed close together.

“Aren’t we?” Brienne countered. “I’ve always thought ‘fuck buddies’ and ‘booty calls’ were sordid names.” She bit her lip, making it even redder. “This doesn’t feel sordid to me.”

Jaime had to kiss her for that, and then he had to kiss her because she kissed him back, and—

“If you keep that up, I’ll never get to call about the cabin,” she protested breathlessly, pulling back to bury her face against his shoulder. But she made no effort to detach herself from him, and in fact kept moving her fingertips over the back of his neck in a particularly enticing way.

“I’m not holding you back,” he replied, and indeed, his hands only rested lightly at her waist, more for the pleasure of touching her than to put any force into keeping her close.

“I need you to bolster my willpower,” she murmured, a smile in her voice. “I don’t seem to have any, where you’re concerned.”

Nor any sense of self-preservation, it would seem. Nor did he, for that matter. A frisson of panic slid down his spine, again, like an icy finger. Everything about the situation was too much, too fast, too good. _Brienne_ was too good, sweet and innocent, and he had a sudden, unpleasant realization that the world, which he had found so unbearable, likely had been even worse to her.

Maybe he could convince her to stay here, with him, far away from everyone else?

“Okay, then,” he told her with a final kiss, and helped her lever herself off him and back onto her feet.

He had until the roads were clear again to convince her.

He wasn’t going to waste a second of it.

~*~

ONE WEEK LATER

The days passed, and the roads were kept impassable when more snow fell, and more besides. They celebrated Sevenmas together, the most peculiar Sevenmas Jaime could recall, even weirder than the ones he’d spent by himself with only Leo for company. Brienne turned out to be a crack shot and, once her ankle was fine again, took his rifle and disappeared into the woods while he was in the shower. He’d emerged to find her on the back porch, by the merrily-humming generator, plucking the feathers from a half-dozen quails with their heads neatly shot off.

“Two for each of us!” she announced, apparently including the dog in those who would feast, and indeed, roasted they had been very fine as a holiday dinner.

It went far in showing Jaime how complex she was; tender-hearted to a fault, but at the same time, tough as nails, imminently practical. Blindly stubborn when her blood was up, but perfectly reasonable and agreeable when approached with respect.

Brienne was the most intriguing combination of shy and bold; she was far too timid to initiate sex, but capitulated within moments when he made an overture. And once she got started, she forgot herself enough to let her passion have free reign, whispering to him what she liked, what she wanted, how he was making her feel; her hands, strong and yet exquisitely gentle, would be greedy on him as they touched and grasped and stroked.

She was open-minded and let him talk her into any number of diverse acts a couple could enjoy, though honestly nothing about what they did together could be termed ‘kinky’; as long as the sex was good and no one felt like shit afterward, Jaime didn’t need anything fancy or exotic. Fortunately, Brienne appeared to agree, never seeming unsatisfied or frustrated if they didn’t get up to anything unusual. She was openly shocked at his attraction to her, he could tell, and almost humblingly pleased that he would have anything to do with her in a physical way.

Which was nearly criminal, because she was a powerhouse of tightly coiled sexual energy; once roused, she was single-minded in her pursuit of coming and making him come, an admirable quality he indulged. But perhaps after the initial eagerness of being together had blunted somewhat, he could teach her to slow a bit, to tease, to wander and explore instead of pelting straight for the finish line. It was something he looked forward to greatly.

Except that there didn’t seem to be any blunting in sight; their lust for each other continued unabated, libidos cranking from zero to _ohgodsyes_ in mere seconds, hands clawing at each other’s clothing in their haste to position him for the thrust. Jaime had never felt anything as good, as right, as the way Brienne took him deep, her inner muscles sealing tightly around him. Her voice in his ear, begging him to touch her, to fuck her, to come in her…

Jaime gave a little cough and shifted on his side of the couch. Brienne sat on the other side, legs turned inward and her feet tucked under his thigh. She was reading from his tablet, one hand dangling down to idly pet Leo’s head, and Jaime felt a surge of happiness at the peace and domesticity of the moment. It was nice to see her so relaxed, because as the days passed, instead of feeling more at-ease with their cohabitation and togetherness, Brienne only seemed to grow more and more uptight.

With little to do besides the daily chores, they’d spent the week talking, gradually revealing more and more about themselves until they had no secrets left. It had been somewhat terrifying, Jaime being convinced that the next revelation would disgust her, drive her away, but it seemed Brienne had depthless wells of empathy and compassion in her, never judging him.

But now that they’d revealed all of themselves to each other, there was nothing new to share. She was likely bored, without things to do, places to go. And what if she were becoming tired of him? Jaime was not terribly interesting, he had to admit. He was the stupidest Lannister, as his sister and father and sometimes even Tyrion had reminded him prior to his self-extraction from the world, and hadn’t paid attention to current events once hidden away on the mountain.

Plus, there was the possibility that she thought he was too old for her; Brienne was a mere babe of twenty-four while he was, at thirty-eight, knocking on the advent of his fifth decade. Perhaps she found him an adequate playmate for the duration of her enforced stay with him, but once that was no longer the case…

Jaime pushed down the unsettled feeling in his stomach and stood.

“I’m going to get more firewood,” he murmured. Brienne looked up from the tablet and offered him a little smile and a nod. Leo shuffled to his feet and gave Jaime a wag of the tail, hopeful of a run or perhaps some stick-throwing. The dog pelted out into the snowy yard the moment the door was open wide enough for him to shimmy through.

Jaime stepped out, pulling the door almost closed, but instead of gathering any logs, he just stood there and gazed out over the vast stretch of white between the cabin and the edge of the woods, broken only by Leo’s ecstatic romping. The sun was beginning to set over the trees, painting the sky peach and gold. It wasn’t all that cold, compared to the night before, and the air was fresh in his lungs when he gave a deep inhalation. He felt almost perfectly happy, except for one little something lacking…

Then she was there, slipping past the barrier of his body in the doorway to stand at his side.

“You’re letting the heat out. Or the cold in. Or both,” she told him, but her tone was gently teasing, and when he looked at her, she was smiling, just a little, before she looked around as he’d done.

Jaime watched Brienne, instead of their surroundings, as she gazed at the purpling twilit sky. He was taken by a sense of hyper-awareness, of immediacy and clarity. Time seemed to slow. His arm apparently decided to act without his conscious direction, wrapping around her waist and pulling her close. As a testament to how closely aligned they were in that moment, she didn't stiffen in surprise or pull away; instead, she slid her own arm around him in return, and leaned her head against his.

There, that's what had been missing; the heat of her body against his, and the clasp of her arm to let him know that he wasn't alone in that place, with the stars starting to wheel overhead and the smell of snow and pine in the air. She seemed just as content to stand there in the cold, observing the world with him— she wasn’t bored in that moment, or disgruntled that they weren’t doing something more ‘fun’, which usually meant costly or noisy or able to be shown off for others to envy.

Leo barked, off to the side, startling them into laughter. He trundled through the white drifts to join them on the porch, giving himself a brisk shake that showered them with snow before shoving past them to enter the house.

“I think he wants dinner,” Brienne said, slapping at her arms and thighs to brush off the snow Leo had so kindly shared. Then she rubbed her belly, lowering her voice as if confiding a secret to him. “I do, too.”

When she turned to go in, for a moment, her back was to the sky and he saw that her eyes were the same vivid color as dusk began to fall in earnest, a blue both deep and clear.

“What?” she asked with a confused little laugh, when she realized he was staring at her. “Did Leo get snow in my hair, too?”

“You’re beautiful,” he said, and kissed her.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for your comments, I'm glad you're enjoying it :)

~*~

“You’re beautiful.”

Brienne was so taken by surprise, to hear Jaime speak of her looks, that she just stood there silently, like a fool for long seconds as he kissed her, as she processed what had occurred. They’d been having a wonderful moment, something that even she, in her romance-deprived life, was able to recognize as special and intimate.

And then he had to ruin it with his—

—with his honesty, sarcastic though it might have been. Not like it was possible to deny what confronted her in the mirror every day. She’d just… hoped he’d be above the mockery.

And then to kiss her right afterward. Did he honestly think she’d want anything to do with him after he’d been cruel?

She had been teetering on the edge of something terrifying, an emotion she hadn’t ever dared consider she might be lucky enough to feel— and which might be reciprocated. That frightened her most of all, that Jaime might be feeling the same storm of emotions he whipped up in her. There was something enormous there, unwieldy, trembling, shining and beautiful…

The knowledge that the kiss was empty of even a sliver of affection— for how could there be any, if he was able to mock her so easily?— made something within her, that had kindled into a fine little glow, sputter and die.

Jaime didn’t seem to notice. He drew the kiss to an end with a smile she felt against her lips, and leaned his forehead against hers. Their breath mingled, blowing white puffs into the narrow space between them.

“You’re shaking,” he murmured, running his hands from where they’d been holding her elbows down to her cold-reddened hands. “I shouldn’t have kept you out here so long.”

She dared to glance at him, to see if he’d noticed anything different, and sucked in a shocked breath. He was looking at her with an expression of such tenderness that, if she were someone else, or looked differently, or they had known each other longer than a week, she’d have sworn was… loving.

 _He wasn’t mocking me at all_ , she thought in astonishment. _He actually_ _meant_ _it._

“What?” he asked with a slight frown, because she was staring at him with what had to be the stupidest expression of amazement.

Brienne had thought she’d never experience what it was like to be wanted and desired— for herself, not because she was convenient— and resigned herself to the mediocre climaxes she’d been able to give herself. She’d expected to go her entire life in a state of love unanswered, had expected to eventually take up with someone she barely tolerated, since the alternative was to be alone.

Instead, there was Jaime.

She doubted he’d ever realize how profoundly he had affected her. Even if their… whatever it was… went nowhere at all, what he’d given her more than made any upset she’d suffer when it was over entirely worth it. To have a man genuinely want her, especially a man like him…

Brienne lifted trembling hands to his face, his short beard silky against her palms, and just… looked at him. He was ludicrously handsome, his eyes a lambent green and hair gleaming golden in the waning light. He was watching her, lips parted, and a little frown starting between his eyebrows.

“What’s wr—” he began, cut off when she kissed him.

She closed her eyes, completely lacking in self-consciousness and embarrassment just for being _her,_  and put all her gratitude and lust and affection into it. At first he only stood there, probably a bit surprised and confused— he’d been the instigator in most of their kisses, thus far. She’d usually been too apprehensive and embarrassed at her lack of physical charms to initiate.

But swiftly he rallied, arms wrapping around her and pulling her close, answering her in kind. Their momentum built, their passion flared, and when they drew back they were both panting, lips reddened and eyes bright.

“Nothing’s wrong,” she said breathlessly. “You just looked—”

More than his gorgeous appearance, however, was the depthless well of gentleness and affection she saw in him, that he had shown her in the last week, as if he’d been storing it up for years and couldn’t be more pleased to finally have the opportunity to lavish it upon someone. A man like this was made for love, for giving and receiving it, and to know he’d secreted himself away on a mountaintop rather than risk being hurt again made her chest ache.

“Looked how?” Jaime asked, puzzled.

 _Like you could love me_ , she thought. _Like someone I could love._

“Beautiful,” she ended up telling him. “You looked beautiful.”

Jaime swallowed heavily, his gaze searching hers for… something. She didn’t know what, precisely, but he seemed to have found it, because he gave her the sweetest smile and said, “Right. Well, dinner’s going to be late.”

Then he took her hand and pulled her behind him into the house, kicking the door shut behind them.

“Late?” Brienne said, confused by the abrupt shift from tender moment to brisk action and change of plans. “Why? I thought you were hungry.” No answer. He just kept marching through the main room. “ _I’m_ hungry.” Nothing; he merely pulled her into the bedroom. “Jaime?”

“I just realized that I haven’t made love to you yet this afternoon,” he announced, and set about undressing her.

It did not escape her that he called it _making love_ and not _fucking,_  as he had before, and she found herself as eager as he, hands greedy as they pulled off his sweater, pushed down his sweatpants and briefs, slid over his warm skin and pulled him close.

When they got onto the bed, however, they slowed, the edge of lust softening into something more patient and exploratory. Jaime’s touch moved up, across the cap of her shoulder and down between her breasts to the faint ridges of her belly, which he traced with reverence.

“I love how strong you are,” he murmured against her throat.

“Most men prefer when women are softer and weaker than they are.” The muscles under his hand tensed, and not because she was flexing and showing off. Even when she knew he did not see her as others had, the emotional flinch was instinctual.

His shrug was casual. “How do you like your men? Strong and fit, or a flabby weakling who can’t do this?”

In a flash, he had rolled to his back, pulling her atop and astride his thighs.

“Besides, I’m not ‘most men’, I think you’ll agree.” His breath was coming faster and she doubted it was because of his exertions: he was hard as steel between her legs, and she let her weight press her against that thick ridge. “You’re strong. But you’re gentle. You could hurt me, but you don’t. All that… controlled force.”

His voice was deep and rough, like amber velvet brushing over her nerve endings, sending shivers trilling down her spine. She rolled her hips as he began to work himself against her.

“All that controlled force,” he repeated softly, “and instead of fighting me, you moan as you take my cock.”

Her breath hitched, desire a flashfire through her, to hear him speak so plainly.

“Well, what— what about you?” Brienne shot back, sounding winded even to her own ears. “You’re _not_ some flabby weakling. You’re strong enough to hurt me, but you don’t eith— ahhh.”

He’d slid his fingers between her legs to find her clit with unerring aim. She knew he was aware of how wet and ready she was for him. It only seemed fair that she return the favor, and she filled one hand with his cock and the other with his balls.

“I could say the same,” she said, fondling them, feeling every bit as powerful as he said he liked her to be. It gave her the confidence to continue, “All this controlled force, and instead of fighting me, you moan as I take your cock.”

“ _Yes_.” Jaime arched into her hands with a groan. “Take it again.”

She shifted her weight forward, to her knees, and eased down onto him to the hilt. His hands were hard on her hips when he jerked her down, pulling her urgently onto his erection, making her cry out. She rode him slowly, exulting in his groans of enjoyment.

“Oh, gods,” she whispered, head thrown back and face slack in stunned pleasure. “I can’t believe…”

Jaime began undulating beneath her, and she soon picked up the rhythm, rising and dropping in counterpoint to his thrusts. “Can’t believe what?” he prompted. “That it’s this good? I know I can’t.”

She leaned forward, the flesh of his chest warm under her bracing hands, and she wasn’t able to stop caressing it, needing the sensation of sleek skin and crisp hair against the pads of her fingers. His skin was so hot, as though with a low fever, his nipples stiff peaks under her hands.

“It _is_ good, and no, I have trouble— ooh— believing that, too. But…” Her gaze met his.

Brienne felt the force of their connection, felt it strengthen, and the world narrowed down to his face, and then only his eyes. There was nothing but green, green, green. Whatever he felt from it made him buck up into her even harder. Her eyes rolled back at the more forceful thrust and she gasped, “How d-deep you reach in me like this.”

 _His_ eyes rolled back at that and his hands tightened on her waist. “So you’re saying… that this should be… our standard position… from now on? I’ll agree to that.”

Jaime moved his hips in a circle, making sure every millimeter of her was able to feel him, and she thrashed a little on top of him.

“Noooo,” she crooned, because the other positions they’d explored had all had their strong points as well, but she was having trouble remembering them, or anything else at that moment beside Jaime and the thick column of flesh he was spearing into her so forcefully. She ground down on his pubic bone, needing the stimulation, and it dragged her even closer to the climax that threatened to consume her. “The other positions are— ooh— just as good— oh— they’re just— ungh— different! Ah! Jaime!”

Her rhythm stuttered and failed as she came, rising and falling with a wildness she couldn’t contain, clenching and gripping around his cock while she whimpered and keened. The noises embarrassed her, because they sounded so girlish, so feminine, so womanly, and she was none of those things, yet… Jaime drew them from her, played her body like an instrument, and she sang out with every wave of joy.

Dimly, in the midst of her haze of pleasure, she felt his hands tighten even more, felt an even deeper stretch, as he thrust harder, losing his rhythm and coming, jetting with a shout into the very heart of her.

Brienne tried her best to support herself, to hold herself atop him while they rode out the aftershocks, but after that… no. She slid bonelessly off him, falling to the side, limp and sated. She turned her head on the pillow and saw how he gasped, head still tilted back from the paroxysm of his orgasm.

She slid her hand under his neck and drew him against her. He went willingly, even eagerly, rolling to his side and melting against her, legs tangling and arms curling around and face buried against her throat.

“Brienne…” he muttered against her skin, and it sounded more like an expression of astonishment than an attempt to get her attention. Somehow, without more words, she knew what he meant.

_That was incredible. I didn’t know it was possible to be like that. You’re wonderful. I’m happy. You make me happy._

“Yes,” she answered, and hoped he understood what she meant. “Yes.”

When they were able to peel themselves apart and off the bed, they redressed and ambled to the kitchen, bone-deep satisfaction plain in the languid way they walked, the lazy slur to their voices, the smiles they could barely keep from blinding each other.

They ate dinner, then ditched their dirty plates in the sink, to be washed at a later time, and curled up on the sofa under a blanket while Leo stared balefully at them for usurping his bed. They alternated sharing his laptop, showing each other things that interested them and ended up falling asleep against each other, only rousing when Leo, fed up with being displaced, tried to climb on top of them.

Laughing and drowsy, they had the dog take one last quick trip outside before stumbling back to the bedroom and collapsing. It wasn’t all that late, and ordinarily, Brienne would have been amused by the notion of going to sleep when the hour was still in the single digits, but… they had fit a lot of living into the day. They deserved an early night.

 _And_ a late morning, or so she thought, but it seemed the gods did not agree, because she lurched upright and wondered what had awoken her so suddenly.

But there was only silence, and Jaime staring blearily up at her from where he’d fallen away from her.

“Whuh?” he mumbled, bemused.

Usually he woke before her, teasing her into wakefulness with his hands on one erogenous zone or another, coaxing her to start the day with sleepy, blissful sex. This was the first time she’d woken him, and not with any seductive touches.

For a moment, Brienne felt a pang of regret that the day was not to begin in that way, because she thought she might have reached a place of confidence and security in Jaime’s desire for her that she’d be comfortable in making the first move.

The silence stretched and lingered without interruption; perhaps Brienne had imagined whatever had woken her? She opened her mouth to speak, but then she heard it again: a banging, as if of a fist against a door.

Specifically, the cabin’s front door.

“Oi,” barked a male voice from outside. “Are you dead in there?”


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter dedicated to Janie_tangerine, who is delightful as well as magically talented. Chatting with her is always a trip.

~*~

Jaime blinked and was alert in an instant.

“Oh, gods,” he muttered, out of the bed and into last night’s discarded clothes and striding from the room before Brienne could even push the covers off. She, too, dressed, and followed him to the front door. He’d flung it open and was engaged in a spirited conversation with the man who stood there.

The man was leathery of skin and receding of hairline, with pale blue eyes that seemed to see everything. Past him, Brienne was able to see a long trail of footsteps leading to the far side of the clearing that stretched between the cabin and the edge of the woods. A helicopter perched there, far enough away that, fast asleep, they’d not heard its arrival.

“That her, then?” the man asked, jutting his chin out over Jaime’s shoulder at her.

Jaime turned to her. “Yes,” he sighed, scrubbing his hands over his face. “Brienne, Bronn. Bronn, Brienne.”

She came forward, hand cautiously outstretched. “Hello…?” she ventured.

Bronn gave her hand a brisk wringing, eyeing her up and down in a way that managed to be both lascivious and practical before swiveling his eyes back to Jaime.

“You don’t do anything by half measures, do you?” Bronn asked him.

Jaime only pinched the bridge of his nose in clear exasperation.

“There’s no need for you to have come,” Jaime said with the air of someone repeating himself for the third time. “Nothing is wrong. We have plenty of everything we need.”

“What’s happening?” Brienne asked, arms wrapped around herself against the chill from the open door. “Shouldn’t Bronn come in?”

Jaime scowled, clearly not wanting the intrusion, but stepped back to let the other man in. Bronn made quite a show of stomping the snow from his boots and clapping some warmth back into his hands, though he was bundled up like a pro mountain hiker and looked likely to survive the next coming of the Night King.

“Bronn is my brother’s friend,” Jaime explained, making his way to the kitchen with a purposeful stride to make coffee. “And a pilot.”

“ _Your_ friend too, I thought,” Bronn said, a nearly convincing expression of hurt outrage on his face before he ruined it by grinning. “Now that it’s been a week, and it just keeps snowing, and there was mention of a busted generator, Tyrion thought you might be downplaying how serious things are,” Bronn piped up. “Sent me up here to rescue you.” He grinned and flicked a flirty glance at her. “Though it looks like you don’t want to be rescued.”

Brienne went pink, fully aware she looked every bit as compromised as she was: hair a mess from sleeping, and Jaime’s raking through it during sex the night before, and she wouldn’t be surprised if her lips were still swollen and her cheeks bore whisker-burn. Jaime didn’t look much better.

“It was a wasted trip,” Jaime said flatly. “So you can go back to King’s Landing and tell Tyrion that we’re fine and once the roads are clear—”

“That’s just it,” Bronn interrupted. “The roads aren’t going to be clear. Not for a while, at least.”

“What?” Jaime paused in the act of shoving the coffee pot into the machine.

“None of the plows and salt and sand are being deployed to this Eyrie Road,” said Bronn. “Tyrion tried to get at least one up here, but Baelish is refusing.” He cocked his head to one side, seeming like nothing so much as an over-inquisitive bird. “Any idea why that might be?”

Jaime groaned and pinched the bridge of his nose again.

“What does that mean, then?” Brienne asked.

“It means that they’re not diverting services from the rest of the Vale because one person decided to live in an inaccessible place.” Bronn smirked. “Or so said Baelish. You’re either coming with me, love, or you’re staying here another week or two, when the plows aren’t needed elsewhere, or the snow melts.”

The snow wasn’t melting any time before April, Brienne knew. There would just be more and more.

“Can you maybe come back… another time?” she asked, reluctant to leave Jaime just yet. She’d taken off two weeks from work. It had been ten days already; she had three more until she absolutely had to be back on Tarth. “In a day or two?”

“ ‘Fraid not, love. I’m leaving tomorrow for an extended holiday on Lys. Won’t be back for a month. It’s either today or take your chances with whenever Baelish decides to send the plow up the mountain.”

“I’m not leaving,” Jaime said flatly, looking to Brienne. “I went down to Bloody Gate two weeks ago, and I don’t need to go back for another two weeks.”

The gaze he leveled on her was a wild mix of hope and desire and anxiety. She could stay. She _wanted_ to stay; that week with him had been the happiest of her life and she didn’t want it to end, ever.

But… it was madness, wasn’t it? She couldn’t leave behind her life on Tarth, the home she’d grown up in and shared with her family, and her job so she could live on top of a mountain with a man she’d met only a week earlier and who was, effectively, a hermit.

The coffee machine burbled into the silence that fell. Bronn pretended to study his surroundings. Jaime stared at Brienne. Brienne looked anywhere but at Jaime, and licked her suddenly dry lips before speaking at last.

“I’d— I’d better pack up, then,” she said at last, meeting Bronn’s gaze. “Do you mind waiting a few minutes?”

“Not at all,” he said easily, and she fled for the bedroom. “I can drink coffee and catch up with my good pal Jaime.”

His good pal Jaime tossed him an unfriendly glance and followed Brienne. He shut the door behind him and immediately said, “You don’t have to go. There’s no rush.”

“Isn’t there an old adage?” she asked hesitantly, once the silence became unwieldy and peculiar. “Fish and houseguests stink after three days. It’s been far longer than that, by now.” She tried to force a smile. “I don’t want to stink because I’ve overstayed my welcome.”

“You won’t. I like having you here.” Jaime pressed close against her so she could feel his warm, strong body against hers from breast to knee. “Stay,” he said softly, his lips so close to hers that the words were more a caress than speech. “Stay with me.”

He kissed her gently, sweetly, until Brienne thought her heart would burst, until she was on the verge of agreeing. But even if he were the most beautiful man in Westeros and she was halfway in love with him… _she_ wasn’t a hermit, and didn’t want to be. She liked her job. And, with the circumspection a week away had granted her, she missed her home. Despite the echoing emptiness, she knew the memories of growing up there with Dad and Galladon would eventually be comforting instead of painful.

A pang of longing to be back there lanced through her. She missed the salty air freshening the house through the palmettos, the distant sound of the waves crashing against the limestone beaches. She missed watching the sun rise over the Narrow Sea from the porch, wrapped in a quilt, hot cup of coffee in her hands.

Blinking, she realized that instead of it being just her alone in her imaginings, Jaime had been there, too— walking with her on those beaches, sitting by her on that porch— and another pang of longing gripped her.

But he wasn’t leaving his mountain, and she had no right to ask him to.

Brienne curled her fingers around his arms, kissing him back, relishing it one last time before taking a step back.

“I can’t,” she said haltingly, and gathered her fortitude to add, “but… you could… come with me? Or at least visit?”

Jaime stared at her, lips parted in surprise and dismay.

“If not now— I know you haven’t had any time to prepare— then soon?” she babbled hurriedly. “You could take some time to get used to the idea, maybe just come back to civilization for a weekend at first, ease into it—”

“I can’t,” he ground out harshly, dropping his arms from around her to put space between them. “You know why I left, and why I won’t go back.”

She did know; he’d told her the whole sordid tale, of Lannisters in general and his immediate branch of them in particular. Frankly, they all sounded awful, including Tyrion, but he held a spot in his older brother’s heart so Brienne tried to reserve judgment where he was concerned.

She sympathized with what Jaime had endured, what he was wary of and determined to avoid… but by the same token, it hadn’t happened to _her_. She had no wish to hide herself away forever. She’d needed time to cope with her first Sevenmas without her father, but that had been a temporary solitude she’d sought, never intended to be lengthy or permanent.

“I could come back to visit,” she attempted, though it was a long trip from Tarth to the Vale— either an interminable train ride or drive up the coast, or a costly flight she couldn’t really afford. Couldn’t afford the train and car ride, either, for that matter. But for Jaime, to be with him, even for only a few days at a time… every few months, after she’d saved her stars and stags…?

He seemed to understand the complications inherent in their situation. His lips compressed and turned down, and he dropped his bright gaze, shoulders slumping.

“It’s not going to work,” he said slowly, then lifted his eyes. “Is it?”

Brienne felt her chin wobbling, losing the battle she fought to control it. “I don’t think so, no.”

He swallowed heavily, then nodded. “Let’s— let’s get you packed up, then.”

They made short work of returning her few belongings to the suitcase he’d scavenged from the abandoned rental car. Brienne took a last look at the bed, with its rumpled linens and the pillow with two dents, as they’d slept so closely they’d shared it. The scent of sex was faint in the air, still present from the night before.

She carried the suitcase out of there and into the main room, making for the pegs where the coats and scarves hung while Jaime stopped at his desk and scribbled on a scrap of paper.

Bronn had made himself comfortable on Brienne’s side of the couch— no, it wasn’t her side, wasn’t her couch— and helped himself to her tablet— no, _Jaime’s_ tablet— while they’d been packing. He sipped his coffee and looked up at her as she began to pull on her outerwear, and she could have sworn there was a flash of sympathy in his keen eyes before the cynicism returned.

He poured the rest of the coffee straight down his throat in spite of the scalding temperature, surely searing his esophagus, but he seemed none the worse for it as he stood.

“That went faster than I expected,” he commented with a smirk. Brienne frowned in confusion, so he helpfully clarified, “Thought a farewell shag would take longer. I guess Jaime’s quick on the trigger.” He raked a considering gaze down her form. “Though I can’t blame him. Those legs—”

“ _Bronn_.” It was just one word, but it sounded deadly, and strange, coming from Jaime. Brienne had seen him irritated and exasperated, amused and patient, aroused and tender in the past week, but never had she heard him truly angry or threatening.

“Sorry,” said Bronn, but it was clear he was nothing of the sort as he gave Jaime a lazy salute and sauntered from the cabin.

“Sorry,” Jaime said also, but him, Brienne believed. He thrust his hand into his hair, shoulders slumped.

“It’s fine,” she said. “I don’t care if he misunderstands.” She understood, and Jaime did, and that was all that mattered.

Leo didn’t seem to understand, however; he interpreted her putting on her coat and boots as an indication it was time to play outside. When she only hefted her suitcase and stepped onto the porch, no ball or sticks to throw in sight, he gave a confused _wufff_.

Jaime followed her outside, boots on but no coat. On the other side of the clearing, the helicopter whirred to life. Jaime trudged toward it with Brienne, his expression that of someone on their way to a funeral. Leo ran alongside, but his antics calmed as he realized that it definitely was not playtime. Brienne blinked and pretended the moisture in her eyes was only due to the brightness of the sunlight glinting off the snow.

When they were close enough to the helicopter to be whipped by the snow flung about from the force of the rotating blade, they stopped. Jaime’s hair was tossed every which way, a gorgeous leonine tangle of gold and caramel strands gleaming in the sun, and his cheeks bore little pink patches from the cold. He looked positively edible and Brienne thought wistfully of that rumpled bed, barely stifling the urge to just grab him and run back inside and ravish him one last time.

“You should have worn a coat!” Brienne scolded in a shout over the noise, instead.

“I’m fine!” Jaime shouted back. He took her hand and shoved the scrap of paper into it. “Call me when you’re home, so I know you got there alright.”

Brienne shoved it in her pocket and swallowed heavily against the thick knot in her throat. “O-okay.”

They stared at each other a long, tense moment. He looked absolutely miserable, almost as awful as she felt. She crouched and jogged to the helicopter, yanking on the door until it swung open and handing her suitcase in to Bronn, who was waiting none too patiently for her.

She lifted a foot to climb inside, but Jaime grabbed her arm, spun her around and pressed her against the helicopter. His lips were on hers before she realized what was happening, but her instincts— finely attuned to him after over a week— were immediate in responding. Hands in his hair, mouth slanted open over his, tongue sliding against his, she kissed him with everything she had while trying to memorize every single detail.

The heat of his breath as he exhaled through his nose, the satin lining of his cheek, the prickle of his bearded chin… all were fixed in Brienne’s mind when she finally drew back. She permitted herself a last observation of his face, an indulgence to think about how dear it had become to her.

_I can’t do this_ , she thought, and then _I_ have _to do this_.

She climbed up into the helicopter and slammed the door shut before she could change her mind and reach for Jaime again. He backed up until he was safely away from the spinning blades. Leo bounded to his side and Jaime dropped a hand on the dog’s head. They both watched, unwavering, as Bronn expertly guided his craft vertically into the air.

Then he made it take a sharp turn to the left, abruptly severing Brienne’s view of Jaime, Leo, the cabin, all of it— before them stretched an endless expanse of white, disturbed only by snowy tree tops breaking through the colorless mass blanketing it.

A flash of silver caught her eye; there was a big rectangle of it below, and she realized it was her rental car— all that remained visible was the roof.

_I’ll have to_ _try calling them again_ , she thought, glad to have something to distract her from the urge she felt to cry. She’d tried contacting the rental agency a few times but without success— they’d likely gotten snowed in and were unable to make it to the office. It was fine. Everything was fine.

Everything was _fine._

She’d just keep telling herself that until she believed it.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Almost done, one more chapter to come tomorrow and that's it! Thank you for reading it :)

~*~

Jaime didn’t go back inside right away. He wandered around the perimeter of the clearing for a while— he didn’t know how long— and then to Brienne’s vehicle, though it was devoid of anything but the standard rental car presence. He’d have to do something about the car and made a mental note to call the rental place at some point in the day.

Thinking about mundane logistics helped his temper to calm, and once he was fairly certain he’d be able to keep from saying anything irreparably furious to his brother, he returned to the cabin and picked up the phone.

To his credit, Tyrion let him rant for a solid five minutes before speaking.

“Jaime,” he said when his brother wound down, “you cannot tell me you seriously thought she’d quit her job and abandon her home to remain with you in a remote cabin on top of a mountain in the middle of nowhere. Listen to yourself.”

Jaime was listening to himself, and he knew how ridiculous it sounded, but…

“You don’t understand,” he said tiredly. “It’s— we have— there’s something there, between us, Tyrion. It has been right from the start.”

“Chemistry,” Tyrion scoffed.

“Yes, chemistry, but also more. It’s not only about sex.”

“So she’s fun. That doesn’t mean—”

“She’s not fun,” Jaime interrupted. “Of the two of us, I’m the fun one. I have to coax her to smile. I have to work twice as hard to get her to laugh. Life has been hard on her— people have been hard on her— but in spite of it…”

He raked a hand through his hair and slumped down onto the couch, waiting for Tyrion to interject, but for once, his brother was quiet, waiting for him to finish.

“In spite of it, she’s so damned sweet. Decent, too, and strong. More than only liking her… I admire her. She has every quality I’ve ever respected. I feel like a better person just being near her.” He barked out a harsh laugh. “When was the last time I felt anything like that? When was the last time _you_ felt anything like that?”

Then he inhaled a hasty breath. How could he have forgotten?

“Oh, gods, Tyrion, I’m sorry, I—”

“It’s fine,” Tyrion said flatly, all the life and teasing gone from his voice.

“I’m sorry,” Jaime tried again.

“Jaime.” Tyrion sounded infinitely weary. “I know who to blame for Tysha. I know it was Father’s doing.”

Jaime could almost hear a door slam closed between them.

“Alright,” he said softly. Then, once more, “I’m sorry.”

“I know you are.” Tyrion paused. “And I’m sorry if I screwed up anything between you and your ugly giantess.” He laughed into Jaime’s fuming silence.

“Why _did_ you send Bronn, then?”

Tyrion sighed. “Believe it or not, but I love you, and while I don’t think your hiding in a mountaintop cloister is the best reaction to everything our delightful family has put you through, I’m glad you have a place you feel happy. Or at least not-unhappy. I worried that you were rushing into this with Miss Tarth, and would end up with your heart broken. That you’d come to hate the cabin, as well, and then where would you go? I can see you fucking off to the far reaches of Essos, trying to find somewhere far enough away, and different enough from Westeros, never to be heard from again.”

Jaime managed to chuckle around the lump in his throat. His brother was not given to frequent displays of affection. This much of it was unprecedented.

“I have wanted to explore Yi Ti,” he said. “And see if Asshai is as gloomy as they say.”

“Exactly,” said Tyrion, sounding relieved the emotional part of the discussion was over.

~*~

Bronn handed Brienne a headset. She put it on with alacrity, fiddling with the attached microphone until it wasn’t about to go up her nose.

She had never been in a helicopter before, and had her heart not felt like it had ripped in two, would have been more excited about it. But each minute they were in the air was another minute further away from Jaime, and Brienne had to clench her teeth to keep from asking Bronn to turn around and bring her back.

The look on Jaime’s face had nearly done her in. Pulling away from him had felt almost like a physical rending. She tried and tried to talk herself out of feeling so despondent, to reprogram what her heart chanted. _It was too soon, it was ridiculous, they barely knew each other._ She was… who she was, burly and ugly Brienne Tarth, plodding and dull. He was handsome, golden, charming Jaime Lannister.

Under normal circumstances, they’d never have met. It was pure chance that they did, that she’d been uncharacteristically reckless and not written down the directions and turned onto the first Eyrie Road instead of the second, that she’d pressed on instead of turning back when it had become clear she’d made a mistake.

 _Or divine intervention_ , some evil little voice whispered back. _Because you’re meant to be together. How else could you have hit it off so well? How else could you have clicked so easily?_

“Stupid,” she scolded herself, blinking angrily against the tears that threatened.

“Huh?”

Brienne’s eyes flew to Bronn. He glanced back, creases forming around his eyes as he offered her a smirk.

“Uh, not you,” she muttered. The headphones made her voice echo weirdly in her own ears.

“Ah.” He studied her silently, for so long she began to get nervous.

“Shouldn’t you keep your eyes on the— the road? No.” That sounded ridiculous. “The sky?”

Bronn made a big deal out of squinting and peering out the big wide window before them. A clear, cloudless sky stretched before them to infinity.

“You seeing a plane or something out there I don’t? Exactly what should I be on the lookout for?”

She slumped back in her seat and scowled but said nothing.

“ ’s okay if you’re upset,” he continued in what he probably meant to be a soothing voice but which only ended up sounding kind of sleazy. “Cry, if you like. See this shoulder?” He pointed to the one nearest Brienne with a leer. “It’s perfect to put your head on, if you need comforting.”

 _I wonder how hard landing a helicopter would be,_ Brienne mused, wanting very much to chuck him out of the aircraft. _I bet it’s not that tough. I’m sure I could do it._

Her stony silence only amused him.

“No?” he said with a laugh and a shrug. “Suit yourself.”

She hoped that would be the end of it but all too soon, he was speaking again.

“Tyrion thought Jaime was crazy, being so taken with a woman he’s only known a week or so,” said Bronn, “and I did too… until I met you.” His pale eyes, sharp and assessing, swept over her substantial form. “You’d be fun to wrestle into submission.”

“You’re assuming you’d win.” She couldn’t refrain from a contemptuous snort as she eyed him back. He was a bit shorter than Jaime, and not as well-built. “You wouldn’t.”

It probably wasn’t fair to compare him to Jaime— who could possibly measure up? Held against such a paragon, Bronn was nowhere near his equal.

 _But then, who was?_ she thought, and the corners of her mouth turned up in a faint smile. _No one, that’s who._ The smile faded. Jaime was unique among men, and she’d never meet his match or anyone like him again. She’d never meet _him_ again. He’d stamped himself indelibly on her and she’d never be the same.

“I’m bringing you to Crossroads,” Bronn said after a while where neither spoke, his soft burr of a voice easing into the silence. “You can catch a train from there. About the same from there to either Gulltown or Riverrun, though Riverrun’s a bit closer.”

“That’s how I got here in the first place,” Brienne said absently, staring out the window at the world flowing past below them, disconcerted by the odd perspective of seeing everything from above. “Ferry to Storm’s End, plane from there to Riverrun, train to Crossroads. I rented a car there and drove to Bloody Gate, and from there up the mountain.” She paused. “The _wrong_ mountain.”

“Shame you didn’t go up the right one, eh?” he said lightly.

Brienne swallowed. “I did,” she whispered. “I went up the right mountain after all.”

“Then why did you leave?”

She sighed and very firmly leashed her annoyance. _What a nosy man._

“You’re going to Essos when, tomorrow? Say you meet a woman there. You’re very attracted to her, you get along, you even feel a strong connection to her that goes beyond the physical. Would you give up your job, your friends, everything you have here to move there to be with her? After fewer than two weeks?”

“If I met someone that looked at me like Jaime looks at you? If leaving her made me feel as gutted as you look?” Bronn peered at her closely, far too closely, before shrugging. “Yeah.” Then he grinned. “Especially if she had any money. You have any money?”

 _Not what I wanted to hear_ , she thought sullenly. She turned her face away without a reply, and they spent the remainder of the trip in not-quite-companionable quiet.

At Crossroads, they touched down in a tiny airfield outside of town. Bronn offered her a lift to the train station, which she took with as graceful a thanks as she could manage. The train got her to Riverrun in under two hours, which she spent in the quiet car so as to have an excuse not to make all the phone calls she’d promised via email.

She did, however, change her plane reservation from two days hence to that afternoon, and damn the fees. She just wanted to be home.

And then, hours and hours later, she was. She let herself into the familiar old house with a sigh of relief, discarding coat and suitcase on the nearest chair and flopping down on the sofa, arms and legs sprawled out, feeling drained. She realized, when she slung her forearm over her eyes, that every stitch she wore— besides her panties— belonged to Jaime: sweatpants, flannel shirt, socks. Brienne had traveled across Westeros looking like a hobo, and didn’t care in the slightest.

And she had no intention of returning the clothes to him, either, though her conscience niggled at her for her selfishness. He’d been wearing the shirt the night before; in their mad scramble to dress when Bronn had arrived, they’d just grabbed whatever was nearest. Bringing the collar to her nose, she inhaled the scent of him still clinging to the worn fabric and felt her stomach clench at the memories provoked by the warm, golden smell. She couldn’t shake the persistent conviction that she’d committed a grievous error.

When the sun finally set, and the house was dark, Brienne heaved herself from the sofa and went about the rote motions of putting her things away properly. When she picked up her coat, about to hang it in the closet, she recalled the scrap of paper Jaime had thrust at her when she left. Digging in her pocket, she extracted the paper and found it was his phone number, scrawled in a bold, slanting hand.

 _Call me_ , he had written under the digits, underlining it twice, and under that, _please_.

Brienne closed her eyes tightly, inundated with thoughts of him. At that very moment, if she were still there, they’d be having dinner— it was her turn to cook, that night, and she’d thought of making chicken casserole. Instead, he’d probably have leftovers of the chili he’d made the night before. She’d microwave some ghastly frozen dinner. And they’d eat separately, no soft conversation or jokes or smiles.

After, they’d clean up and Jaime would go to his laptop and look at funny videos or read articles on the sad state of politics in Westeros, but Brienne wouldn’t be there to share them with him. She pictured him sitting on the big leather couch without her. Leo would be snuggled against him, and he’d idly pet the dog’s head as he scrolled down the page.

She’d… what did she do in the evenings, before meeting him? When her father was alive, they’d watch TV together, sometimes play cards. He’d read tidbits to her from the Tarth Tribune to her that he found interesting. They’d discuss people they knew, and distant family members. After his death, she’d spent the evenings either doing work she’d brought home with her or using her laptop to search for amusing things that would distract her, lift her mood, keep her from remembering that she was all by herself in the big empty house and always would be.

Maybe… maybe leaving the world behind to live on a mountaintop wouldn’t be so bad, if it meant being with Jaime? Not being alone?

With trembling fingers, she peered again at the number and reached for her phone.

“Hello?” he answered, sounding breathless, as if he’d made a wild dash to pick up.

“H-hi, Jaime,” she said, pleased her voice only sound partially croaky from the lump in her throat. “It’s—”

“Brienne!” Gladness thrummed in his voice, turning her knees weak as water, and she abruptly sat on the couch. “Where are you? Did you get home? I wasn’t sure if you’d make it back there today, but then it got late— it’s dark now— and I worried you were stuck somewhere, in Riverrun or Gulltown, gods forbid, and—”

“Jaime,” she interrupted with a laugh, warmth filling her at his rambling stream-of-consciousness. The knowledge he cared about her welfare made her hand clench on the phone and filled her with longing. “I ended up in Riverrun, was able to switch my flight. And now I’m home.”

She looked around and realized that the familiar old things all seemed different to her now. She was looking at them through his eyes, wondering what he’d think of the shabby, comfortable furniture and everything else. The image of him there, with her, was so strong for a moment it took her breath away.

“I’m glad,” he was saying, then after a pause, “It feels strange here, without you.”

“Peace and quiet at last,” Brienne joked, but it fell flat.

“You know that’s not—” he protested right away.

“I know,” she said quickly. “I was only—”

_Trying to lighten a heavy mood. Trying to lift our sagging spirits. Trying to pretend we’re not unhappy._

“How’s Leo?” she tried instead.

“He’s miserable,” Jaime replied after a moment, his voice quiet. Sad. “He tried to eat dinner but it didn’t taste like anything. He’s bored because nothing’s interesting anymore. He’s probably going to sleep on the couch with me because the idea of being in the bed by himself is terrible.”

Brienne’s throat ached with unshed tears. It wasn’t Leo he was describing.

“How about you?” he asked, with a tragic attempt at cheerfulness. “Got any plans for the night?”

“I haven’t eaten yet,” she said slowly. “Probably won’t. The idea of food makes my stomach turn.”

She pulled her legs up, knees under her chin, curling around herself as if to trap his warmth within her.

“I should shower, and change, but…” She shrugged, even though he couldn’t see it, and wretchedness prodded her to be honest, to be daring and reveal herself to him. “I’m wearing your clothes from yesterday. I don’t want to take them off. And if I shower, I won’t smell like you anymore.”

He sucked in a breath. “Brienne…”

“I miss you,” she whispered. “It feels awful and, and _wrong_ to be apart.”

“ _Yes_ ,” he said forcefully. “The cabin seems like it echoes, now. I keep expecting you to be there when I turn around. I keep starting to tell you things and feeling stupid when I realize you’re gone. You left all your toiletries here and I’ve been into the bathroom to sniff at your shampoo like a weird pervert about twenty times.”

Brienne couldn’t help laughing, at that, but it was a feeble, teary thing.

“I shouldn’t have left,” she blurted, unable to hold it in any longer. “I’ll have to give two weeks’ notice at work, so it won’t be right away, but… can I come back? Please?”

“ _Yes_ ,” Jaime said again. “Yes, come back.” He paused. “Come back to me, Brienne. Come _home_.”

To her great shame, she burst into tears. Well, she permitted a tear to roll down her cheek. That passed for ‘bursting’ for a Tarth.

“Maybe I can just give one week’s notice,” she said.

“Honorable wench like you? Knowing you left them in the lurch?” Jaime said with a relieved-sounding laugh. “You won’t be able to live with yourself.”

“I know,” Brienne grumbled. “It’s just…”

“I know.” His voice was impossibly tender. She was struck with a sense of extreme unreality, as if it could not be remotely possible for a man like Jaime to feel that way about her, to be so devoted, so ardent. “But it will go fast, I promise.”

“You promise, huh?” She sniffled and tried to tease, to lighten the mood.

“I promise,” he repeated. “And I don’t make promises I won’t keep. I used to. But not anymore. Not with you.”

It felt like there was a raw spot inside Brienne, in her chest, like a thread connecting them had pulled to its farthest limit and would only ease when they were together.

“I’m going to hold you to that,” she told him.

“Good,” he replied. “I want you to.”


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, this is it-- the end! I hope you have enjoyed this silly little thing-- I'm aware there are parts that could be expanded and other parts that strain logic but thank you for reading it anyway :)
> 
> Thanks to Mikki (aka ikkiM here on AO3) and Sea_Spirit for their excellent betaing and advice, working with them is always a pleasure :)

~*~

The next day, Jaime awoke with an erection as big and hard as a pikestaff. He propped himself on his elbows and stared down at the huge tent in the sheet and wondered whether he’d always been like this and just never realized it, or if the habit of fucking Brienne awake each morning had turned him into a slavering beast.

 _Sun up, cock up_? He flopped back down and stared at the ceiling. It was barely seven in the morning, and the room was warm and cozy, lightening from black to gray as daylight tried to creep in around the edges of the drapes. There was still a hint of Brienne’s scent in the bed, both her fresh aquatic smell and the alluring musk she’d left from sex. He hadn’t had the heart to change the sheets and lose even that small reminder of her.

But it wouldn’t be lost forever. _She’s coming back._ Gladness and relief rose in him, chasing away the bewilderment that had crept up after Brienne’s departure. She was every bit as lost as he was, so far apart. It shouldn’t make him happy, but… knowing she missed him just as much had him grinning stupidly.

His hard-on didn’t fade any, however.

He reached for his phone. _7:07am_ read the tiny lettering at the top corner of the screen. Would she be so accustomed to over a week of being woken at this time that she’d be conscious right now? Jaime decided to chance it, and dialed.

“Bwuh?” she answered after half-a-dozen rings.

“Brienne.”

“Jaiiiii….” she mumbled. “Y’okay?”

“I’m fine. Just… missing you.”

“Miss you, too. Wai’minute. Call y’back.” Then the line went dead.

After a few minutes, the phone rang and he eagerly answered it.

“Okay. I’m awake now,” she said, sounding much clearer-headed. “Why are you calling me so early, if nothing’s wrong?”

“I’m used to waking you up, wench, or have you forgotten already?” He pitched his voice low enough that, even over the phone, it would make her shiver.

“I haven’t forgotten,” she replied, sounding a little breathless. “I felt… very nostalgic yesterday, in fact.”

 _What the hells does that mean?_ She couldn’t possibly be saying she got herself off while thinking of him… could she?

“What form did that nostalgia take?” Jaime asked, both he and his cock very intrigued.

“It took the form of, uh, a replay of last Tuesday,” admitted Brienne. He could practically _hear_ her blushing.

 _Last Tuesday?_ He cast his mind back. What had they done on Tuesday? _Ah._ That was when he’d spent an hour thoroughly exploring the little bit of heaven between her legs and fingering her until she screamed so loudly the windows rattled.

“Is that right?” he purred. “Well, I think our little habit of morning sex is a good one, and should be continued even while we’re apart.”

“I bet you do,” she murmured, her tone amused. “Are you really suggesting we have phone sex every day until I’m back up there with you?”

“The alternative is to wake up each morning with the world’s largest erection and bring myself off without you.” Jaime pushed down the sheet to stare at his cock, which had only grown harder since the start of their conversation, despite his inattention to it. Brienne’s voice had that effect on him. Hells, Brienne’s _everything_ had that effect on him.

He heard her breath catch. “The world’s largest, you say?”

“Hardest, too,” he told her, transferring the phone to his left hand so he could work some magic with his right. Though the sensation of his own grip was nothing like the scalding clutch of Brienne’s body as she took him deep, it would do in a pinch. It wasn’t as if he had an alternative, anyway. He drew his fist from tip to base and groaned at the pleasure that coursed through him. “If I were there with you, we’d be able to enjoy it together.”

“If you were here, though… I still have two weeks to work before I can leave,” she said. Panted, really. “We wouldn’t have time for it, in the morning, unless we hurried, and I don’t like rushing.”

“That’s right, you don’t. You like it when I fuck you nice and slow.”

A gasp, followed by a moan. “Jaime… ”

“When I make you beg to come.”

“Jaime, _please_.”

“Just like that. But I like taking my time. You’ll come when I let you…”

“Don’t do this to me.” But he detected rustling, as of fabric being shifted and removed.

“…and I won’t let you until you’re a mess, pleading, frantic—”

“ _Jaime_ …” Brienne whispered, sounding exactly like she did each time when he slid into her for the first stroke. Behind his closed eyelids, he could see her at that moment, head thrown back, eyes closed, lips parted, rapt with pleasure because of him.

“You sound like you need it so much—”

“…I do, I need it—”

“—like you’d soak my cock, you’re so wet—”

“I am, for you, _Jaime_ —”

“—and I’m going to make you wetter, fill you up—”

“—yes, _yes,_  Jaime—”

“—so tight around me, Brienne, so hot—”

“Jaime!”

“Come for me, wench, do it _now_ —”

“Jaime! Oh, gods, yes, _Jaime_!”

“Yes, Brienne, like that, gods, want you, _want you_ …” he finished with a groan.

They panted into each other’s ears for long moments. Eventually his pulse returned to normal and the world reasserted its presence; he had to piss, and was dying for a drink of water. If Brienne had been there with him, he’d have used the bathroom and started the coffee while she fired up the shower, getting the water good and warm for them to share.

But she wasn’t. He was alone in a nest of rumpled sheets, with semen cooling on his belly and Brienne a thousand miles away. Loneliness crept up on him, followed by an ache of yearning that was nearly physical.

“That was good,” Brienne was saying, her tone shy, “but…”

“Yeah,” he agreed listlessly.

“I should get going,” she continued. “I have so much to do, to be ready to leave in two weeks. Packing, and arrangements for the utilities and mail, and I still haven’t decided what to do with the house.”

Jaime knew she didn’t want to sell it, but she also didn’t want strangers to rent it, and he felt a pang of guilt that she’d have to make that decision to be with him.

“No need to rush about it,” he told her. “Plenty of time to figure it out.”

“True.” She gave a little hum of consideration. Then, “I’ll talk to you later?”

“Yes. Call me tonight?”

“I will.”

They fell silent, the air near to sagging from the weight of what they weren’t saying. Jaime decided to forge into the breach.

“I miss you,” he said. “And can’t wait until you’re back with me again.”

“Me, too,” said Brienne, and he could hear the smile in her voice. “Soon.”

“Soon.”

Finally, they hung up. Jaime sat up to find Leo had entered the room at some point and stood at the foot of the bed, watching him. The idea that the dog had observed him jerking off was profoundly distasteful.

“I gotta remember to shut that door,” he muttered. Leo only tilted his head to the side, an inquiring expression on his furry face.

Jaime let the dog out to do his business and went through the morning’s rote actions before trying to settle down to some stock trading on his laptop, but there was a niggling little _something_ bothering him, like the princess and the damned pea. It seemed like hours had passed, but when he checked, it wasn’t even nine o’clock.

Thus he was relieved when Tyrion phoned, at that moment, and distracted him from his nameless irritation.

“Yes?” he answered his brother’s ring. “Found another way to interfere in my life?”

“Actually, I have.”

Oh, he sounded smug. Jaime hated when Tyrion felt satisfied with himself and couldn’t contain it.

Tyrion was not dissuaded when he received no reply from Jaime.

“I thought you’d like to know a bit more about Tarth,” he said. “I know Brienne told you some things, but I have a few cold, hard facts about it that might interest you.”

Jaime sighed. “Fine. What?”

“Despite its size, the island only has ten thousand full-time residents. That number doubles in the warmer months, when tourists arrive in droves to partake of Tarth’s natural beauty. Cars are not permitted anywhere; the only transportation is via bicycle, scooter, motorcycle, a busy jitney service, and horse.”

Despite himself, Jaime was intrigued. “Horse?”

“Horse,” Tyrion confirmed. “Because of this, it has maintained much of its charm of yesteryear and is counted as one of the best-preserved historical locations in Westeros. Brienne’s family has been prominent among the inhabitants, as you might guess because of her name, for a millennium. The people are accounted to be almost bizarrely decent. Honorable, if such a word can be used in this day and age.”

 _It can be,_ Jaime thought. _Honor is still alive and kicking, and its patron saint is Brienne Tarth._ Even in the two weeks of their acquaintance, he could tell that she was a stalwart, reliable, _beautiful_ soul.

“Sounds nice,” he said when his brother stopped talking.

“Sounds like you’d like to see it, huh?” Tyrion prodded. “Like you should visit it. Maybe stay a while. Maybe stay forever.”

“…what?” Jaime frowned at the phone in confusion and mounting annoyance as a suspicion dawned of what his brother was doing.

Tyrion’s sigh nearly gusted through the phone into Jaime’s ear.

“Honestly, Jaime, don’t you think it’s time to end the hermit act? You can’t live on that mountain forever—”

“Wanna bet?” Jaime grumbled.

“—okay, then, think of it this way. I know why you’re there. Our dastardly family has done you wrong, Westeros is a dumpster fire, blah blah, and you don’t want to deal with any of it, so you hide at the ass-end of the world.”

 _Not this again._  With some acid, Jaime drawled, “That’s pretty much it, yes.”

“Consider this: your _not_ -ugly giantess has been treated poorly but remains stalwart in spite of it, while you’ve been treated poorly and ran away to hide like a pussy.”

Jaime said not a word, letting his offended silence do the talking.

Tyrion sighed again, but this sigh felt distinctly theatrical. “I guess if you’re okay with her giving up her job and everything she knows so the two of you can live like castaways on an uncharted frozen island, it could work.” He paused.

Jaime said nothing.

“I’m sure she won’t come to resent you for the almost total lack of human contact.”

Nothing.

“And I’ve no doubt she’ll appreciate her education going to waste, since I’m certain engineer positions are not exactly thick on the ground over there.”

More stony silence. Undeterred, Tyrion continued.

“The complete lack of entertainment won’t grate on her in any way, I’m sure. Who needs to go out into the world? Eat at restaurants, see movies? In fact, I bet Brienne haaaaaaates those things. She’ll definitely be happy to spend the rest of her life hidden away in a one-bedroom cabin with no job, no friends, nowhere to go, and nothing to do.”

Still Jaime did not speak, though his conscience had put him in a full nelson two minutes earlier and had graduated to choking him with gusto.

“Brienne’s reasonable, isn’t she? She’d agree to go back to the cabin in, say, the summer, to avoid the worst of the tourist crowds. But you’re as stubborn as a dozen mules when you don’t want to see something, Jaime. I’m worried you don’t see the big picture. You might be convinced that everything will be fine, staying up there alone together, but… eventually, it won’t be. You might not need more, but she probably will. And you’ll be depriving her of it.”

Jaime swallowed against the tide of apprehension that rose within him, conflict pulling him in opposite directions. He was safe on the mountain, in the cabin; his family left him alone— mostly, Tyrion being the noisy and persistent exception— and the world’s fuckery was kept at bay.

But… Brienne hadn’t had the same experiences he had. Or at least, she handled them differently. _She_ didn’t react to life’s challenges by hiding like a recluse. He thought of how her face would light up when she was happily surprised by something, how her eyes would shine. There would only be so many opportunities for pleasing discoveries on the mountain, and as time passed, the light would fade. Her eyes would dull. However thrilling Jaime thought himself, he knew that he couldn’t indefinitely sustain another person’s need for contact and diversion.

And then she’d leave. She’d leave, and they’d both be heartbroken, and it would all be his fault.

Brienne had spent years being treated like she should be lucky that any man would deign to notice her. She deserved a man who would give up everything to be with her, not the other way around. Shame swept over Jaime in a rush that left him blinking in shock.

He did not deserve her, not if he was going to insist she come to him.

“Jaime?” Tyrion’s voice sounded like it was coming from the next mountain over, instead of the phone right against his ear. His tone was very gentle.

“Yes,” Jaime said faintly. His head was thrumming with conclusions and implications and, really, just a huge amount of guilt, matched only by self-loathing. He was just another selfish, greedy Lannister. Brienne was better off without him entirely.

He was not a strong man. Not where Brienne was concerned, at least. What he _should_ do was break up with her so she could have a good life without him.

What he was _going_ to do was ease the burden of being with him as much as possible, as he should have thought of independently, without his younger brother shaming him into it.

“Yes,” he repeated, stronger. “You’re— you’re right. I’m going to— something. I don’t know. I’ll figure something out.”

Tyrion laughed. “I’m always right,” he said. “One day you’ll realize it.”

“Don’t hold your breath,” Jaime replied, surprising himself with how light and teasing he was able to sound. The pressure in his chest was easing, and a buoyant sense of eagerness was taking its place. Now that he knew what to do, he couldn’t wait to get started. “But since you know everything, can you convince Bronn to leave for his holiday tomorrow instead? I need him to come get me.”

There was a pause, and then Tyrion said, “Should I have the jet meet you at the Crossroads airport?” He sounded delighted.

“Yeah,” said Jaime, unable to stop grinning. “That would be great.”

~*~

By the time evening fell, Brienne was too tired to fuss with dinner and decided to order a pizza. While she waited for its arrival, she contemplated if it were too early to call Jaime yet.

She had spent the day doing what she could, on a Saturday, to figure out her next moves. She was no closer to deciding whether to sell the house or merely rent it out, but Mr. Goodwin had cleared out his second barn after retiring and would let her store things in it for a modest fee, and both the grocery and liquor store would let her have all their empty boxes to pack things in.

She’d also drafted her resignation letter and was prepared to hand it in to her supervisor in the morning. She’d miss her job; she enjoyed working for the ferry line that connected Tarth to the mainland. She’d miss her cousins, though they were only distantly related, and her neighbors, whom she’d known since birth. There were no secrets in a community as small as Tarth, and when her brother and then father had died, that had felt suffocating and claustrophobic to Brienne, all those pitying eyes and words of sympathy.

But now it felt comforting, secure; she’d stepped off the ferry and been met by a dozen faces who were nearly as familiar to her as her own. She’d walked down streets she’d walked down a million times before, knowing every dip and curve and pothole, and trudged up the old flagstone walk to her house. It had formerly been the gatehouse to Evenfall Hall, back in the days when her family had ruled Tarth as aristocrats. Times had changed, and diminished their influence and wealth, and ultimately they’d ended up in the stone cottage.

Brienne knew every inch of the place. It would be hard to leave behind.

But… _Jaime_. Her job, the people she knew, the house… even all together, they didn’t come close to making her as happy as he did. The anticipation she felt to see him again was like fire in her blood, rushing and heated, a burning need. Was it irresponsible to call it ‘love’? Already? She didn’t know what other word could apply to the complex amalgam of emotions that seized her at the thought of him. If it weren’t already love, it would be soon, she had no doubt.

A knock at the door pulled her from her musings. It had only been fifteen minutes since she’d called for the pizza, but Evenfall was such a small town— more of a village, really— that it only took Bryce, the delivery boy, a few minutes to walk it down Main Street, hang a right on Silver Star Lane, and up that long flagstone walk to the door.

Brienne’s hand was on the doorknob when she heard a dog bark. That was odd; none of her neighbors had dogs. The family up the street had a Schnauzer but it was a yappy little thing, unable to produce the deep-chested _woof_ she’d heard.

Was she going crazy, or did it sound weirdly familiar?

She swung open the door and found— Jaime standing there, Leo at his side, an uncharacteristically nervous smile on his handsome face. Mr. Goodwin’s ancient wagon rattled down the lane, the clopping of his equally ancient horse fading as they rode away.

Brienne gaped.

Jaime smiled some more.

Brienne kept gaping.

Jaime’s smile began to fade.

Leo whined and pawed at Brienne’s knee.

“Brienne?” said Jaime, now beginning to look concerned. “Is it— bad that I’m here?”

“No!” burst from her mouth. She reached for him, or maybe he reached for her, but the end result was that they were in each other’s arms and kissing like it would save their lives.

“Brienne Tarth!” scolded Mrs. Roelle from next door, scandalized. “On your front porch, in front of the gods and everyone?!”

Brienne jerked back, her mouth tingling from the force of Jaime’s lips. “Sorry!” she yelped, and with a handful of Jaime’s coat, pulled him inside.

Leo darted in between their legs and immediately began to sniff all the fascinating new aromas. Brienne dragged Jaime in for another kiss, and they spent a few very fine moments exploring each other as if they’d been parted for years instead of mere days.

“Okay,” Brienne panted when they finally pulled away. “It’s good that you’re here. _Very_ good. And I’m not complaining. But… why?”

“My brother is a massive pain, but he made me realize what a selfish ass I was being.” His eyes were brilliantly green as they roamed over every feature of her homely face, and he was smiling as if he were gazing upon something priceless and beautiful. “I have no right to make you leave everything behind to be with me.”

“You aren’t _making_ me,” she protested. “You’re— you’re worth it, Jaime. I’m happy to do it, if it means being with you.”

His smile could have rivaled the sun, in that moment. “I know. That’s why you deserve better.”

He dropped a suitcase, which Brienne only just realized he was carrying. 

“So, if you want me to— if you don’t mind— I’ll come here to live with you, instead. _We_ will,” he corrected, looking over at where Leo was making himself at home in Brienne’s father’s old wing chair, somehow having shoehorned his bulk into it. He grinned a big doggy grin at them before burying his nose in his fluffy tail and closing his eyes. “If you don’t mind,” Jaime repeated in conclusion.

“Of course I don’t mind,” she murmured, reaching for him once again, this time only kissing him briefly before engulfing him in a hug, her cheek pressed to his. Her mind whirled with what it meant; she didn’t have to leave all her beloved, familiar people and places. She could share them with Jaime, in fact, which was something she hadn’t permitted herself to even dream of, for fear of the longing for it being more than she could bear. “But on one condition.”

“Name it,” he said instantly. “Whatever you want.”

“We have to go back to the cabin often,” Brienne told him. “For Sevenmas, in the summer… all the time. I love it there. It’s where we found each other.”

She pulled back to look into his face; he was happy, even joyful, and because of _her._

“I was hoping you’d say that,” he told her, and kissed her again, so passionately that they were startled into jerking away from each other when there was a knock at the door.

“That’ll be Bryce,” Brienne said thickly, her mind hazy with desire. It had only been a couple of days since they’d last made love but her need for him burned as strongly as ever. His was no less fervent, if the lusty way he was gazing at her were any indication. “With the pizza.”

“Pizza?” If possible, his face went from joyful to radiant. “I get to have you _and_ pizza?”

“We’re a full-service island,” she said with a laugh as she headed for the door. It only took a minute to take the box and hand Bryce the money, and the second the door closed again, Jaime grabbed the food and put it on the nearest table.

Then he tugged her back into his embrace, reluctant to be parted from her for even a moment.

“Love _and_ pizza,” Jaime whispered as he peppered her cheek and throat with kisses. “Tarth has it _all._ ”


End file.
